A Different Dark Age
by dracademented
Summary: {COMPLETE} Every DxG shipper knows about Fire and Ice, right? Wrong. You only thought you knew before, but that was just a glimpse, a glamour. These are the hidden chronicles, the black scrolls. 'Tis a tale of darkness.
1. Fallen Hero

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's _mine_, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

**Author's Note: **I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?

**Summary Note:** This was written as a challenge given to me by a friend, portraying the 'Ice and Fire' aspect of DxG that some say is overused, but that we say is simply classic. It's different, much different, than most 'Ice and Fire' fics, so beware. This is dedicated to Mystick, who set the rules in her usual bitchy way and then begged shamelessly for a glimpse of an underwater palace. Oh, and, um…(looks around shiftily)…this _is_ DxG, but done _my_ favorite way, lol. Oh, you'll see. But I just couldn't leave him out, so all hail the Molidon! Alright, I'm officially done rambling! On to the story!

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Harry remembered. Sitting in a dank cell, miles under the earth, many things came back to him. Memories of years gone by, of the mistakes they had all made. _How did it come to this? _Oh yes, he remembered everything...

_Flashback:_

Ginny changed in her sixth year. No one could figure out why, and she definitely wasn't offering to explain. He knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters that September. Mrs. Weasley was trying her hardest not to cry, 'Mione was crestfallen, and Ron looked as though the earth was no longer solid underneath his feet. When they had all gotten settled in their compartment on the train, Harry asked what was wrong. Ron looked up, hurt and confusion written plainly on his freckled face.

"It's Ginny. She...I dunno, Harry, she's_ changed_. She's been drawn and quiet since her second year, but this is different. She won't talk to any of us, just stares at us with the coldest look in her eyes. She won't answer to Ginny anymore, only to her real name, Virginia. Mum's been crying all summer and even Bill and Charlie are down over this, and they're not as close to her, you know? For the love of the gods, she called Dad a _blood-traitor _when he got onto her one night for being so distant and rude to all of us and sneaking off for hours on end to gods-know-where! None of us knows what to think, just wait 'till you see her..." He trailed off with a miserable expression on his face.

And Harry did see her. When they sat down in the Great Hall after arriving for the welcoming feast, he saw her come in, alone. None of her friends were with her, and Ginny _had_ changed. She'd always worn her hair up, but now it flowed freely down her back to her waist in fiery ringlets. There was not a drop of red or gold to be seen on her robes or cloak, and he didn't know how she'd even gotten them, as they had to have cost a fortune. They were made of rich, black velvet and molded to her body, which had definitely filled out over the summer.

Thick black kohl circled dark, smoky gray eyes. He'd never even noticed the color of them before, but they were like gems that could no longer be ignored. Her full lips were painted a blood red color, almost black, one that showed just how pale she really was, and he swore he could see blood racing underneath that creamy skin. And she must have used a spell or a charm, for no freckles dusted across her nose any longer. She was enchantingly beautiful. She stood tall, with her head high, and he noticed that all of the Slytherins were watching her, but then again, so was almost everyone else.

And that's when they got one of the biggest shocks of their lives. She did not walk towards them, but turned and headed the other way. They made to say something, but the protests died in their throats as Draco Malfoy stood and walked up to her. Ron went for his wand, while the rest of the students in the Great Hall were watching avidly as Malfoy placed his hands on her shoulders. Silver and green appeared where the gold and red trim on her robes should have been, a Slytherin crest where Gryffindor's should have lain on her right breast, and he felt ill.

He expected her to shove him away, scream obscenities, but instead, a malicious smile spread across her face and she wrapped a hand in all of that silver hair, kissing him roughly. Through the disbelief swirling in his head, Harry glanced at the Staff table. Dumbledore and McGonagall had sad, resigned looks on their faces, and he wanted to scream at them to make this stop. He turned back and saw the others' mouths separate, feral grins on both their faces. Through the dead silence in the Hall, they turned and walked to the Slytherin table, the Slytherins automatically making room for her.

She sat next to Malfoy, who had Theodore Nott and two other tall Slytherins beside him, while Blaise Zabini, Anton McGregor and a very tan Slytherin were beside her. Zabini kissed her when she and Malfoy sat down, and then whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. Pansy, Millicent and two other Slytherin girls sat across from them, looking smug, while Zabini's eyes traveled the Hall in a glare that made the other students immediately drop their gazes. Harry finally tore his own eyes away and saw that Ron had lost it, tears running down his face, which had turned a sick green color.

The rest of the student body simply stared in open-mouthed shock. The sorting began, but no one really paid attention. The same thought ran through everyone's mind. _What the hell happened to Ginny Weasley? _Over the next few weeks, they partially found out as they saw a _very_ different Ginny. A Ginny who ruled the Slytherins as Malfoy and Zabini's right hand. A dark, terrifying Ginny. A Ginny who seemed to dissect you with a single glance of those beautiful, malevolent eyes.

It became very clear that the only people she would even waste time on were the other Slytherins, since she was one now, and Malfoy and Zabini were the only people that she truly seemed to trust. Whispers circled madly that she had taken the Dark Mark with them over the summer, and that everyone had best stay away from her for fear of angering the Slytherins, especially Zabini and Malfoy, for she was their jewel. Ron tried to talk to her, but could never get close enough. Every time he attempted to get near her, he was turned away by a tide of green and silver.

Then one day, she came and dumped a pile of ashes at his feet.

"Tell that mudblood-loving bitch to quit writing me. She's no mother of mine, as she'll soon see."

Then she turned on her heel and left, Malfoy and Zabini laughing cruelly at Ron's broken expression. A month or so after school had started, a large herd of unicorns passed by and stopped at Hogwarts, and the entire student body was called onto the grounds to see them. 'Mione was petting a colt on the head when the lead stallion cried out. We turned to see Malfoy, Ginny and Zabini standing slightly apart from the other Slytherins, the lead mare in front of them, shaking visibly.

Their eyes were locked onto the unicorn's, and it was backing away, sweat rolling off of it. The stallion charged at them, then pulled up short less than a yard away, rearing. It screamed again, eyes rolling wildly, and bolted, causing the other unicorns to stampede after it. Every eye locked onto the three standing there so calmly, so coldly, and they _laughed_. So yes, their Ginny, the _old_ Ginny, was dead, and the new one was horrid. The weeks turned into months, and right before the Yule break was to start, Ron came stumbling into their dorm, a letter clenched in his bloodless fingers.

"Harry...oh gods..." He fell on his bed, trembling.

"Ron? What is it?" Harry asked, running to him.

"Oh Harry, she's...she's gone to the M-Ministry and declared herself eman—emancipated from our f-family. She's b-been adopted in-into another one." Harry's blood ran cold at his words.

"What? _How_? Won't your parents have to agree?"

"No. Wizarding law allows it to be her choice as long as she's over sixteen, and has another family supporting her. And she _does_, Harry, she has the two most powerful families..." His voice broke. "Mum just sent me the letter, it was final today. The Malfoys and the Zabinis, along with their lawyers, backed her. She is now Virginia Zabini." He sobbed raggedly, putting his head in his hands.

"Why Zabini and not Malfoy?" Harry asked stupidly, not knowing what else to say. He couldn't remember _ever_ seeing Ron cry like this before, and the mean, cynical little voice in the back of Harry's head wondered _why_ he was so torn up about it, when he'd rarely had the time of day for her before all of this had started.

"Because they're fucking engaged! She'll be a Malfoy soon enough!"

Harry didn't see what difference it made which of the families she was with, really. It was obvious that Malfoy, Ginny and Zabini were all lovers, so he didn't suppose it really mattered which name she took. The entire school knew by the next morning, and the enormous diamond on her hand confirmed it. She went home with Malfoy and Zabini for Yule, and came back with a ton of precious jewels and expensive gifts, and even more darkness in her gaze. The only time he saw her eyes show anything besides disgust and hatred was when she was with her new 'brother' Zabini, and Malfoy, of course.

There was love there for them, and it was a fierce love, one that she seemed to dare people to mock. Which no one did, because they all wanted to stay alive and in one piece. The same love could be seen from them, and he knew that they would kill for her. If they hadn't already, that is. And they seemed to have another surprise for the rest of them. One day, they just stopped using their wands altogether. They offered no explanation, and no one dared to ask for one. They had been feared before, but...Only a dozen of the most powerful wizards ever known have had the ability, and only fools would cross them now.

And they had more to worry about than just that. The Gryffindor-Slytherin match was coming up, and Ginny was, surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly), a Beater. An extremely vicious one. Slytherin had completely slaughtered Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, just like the years before but even more savagely. And Malfoy, well, Malfoy was more of a challenge since the year before when he'd beaten Harry for the Quidditch Cup. Harry would never forget that day. His luck seemed to have run out. It was behind him, no more than two feet away, and he hadn't seen it. Malfoy had.

It reminded him of the first game they'd ever played, but the roles were reversed. And after Draco had won, he didn't even gloat. He just looked at Harry with dead eyes, completely emotionless, and grinned coldly as the Slytherins rushed the field._ And_, Harry thought, _Ginny disappeared that night. _He realized he'd been staring at the back of her head while thinking, her red ringlets very visible even from across the Great Hall, and looked away, only to meet Zabini's violent blue eyes. The Slytherin stared at Harry as if he were an insect, and then leaned over and whispered something to Malfoy.

_End Flashback_

Gods, it was cold down here. The little bit of food that he was given barely kept him alive, so it definitely wasn't enough for his body to keep up a healthy temperature even if it _had _been warmer. Which it wasn't. And the fucking memories wouldn't stop.

_Flashback:_

The Quidditch match was a nightmare. Ginny and Blaise were the Slytherin Beaters, and they ripped through Gryffindor brutally. Their Chasers were well trained and kept scoring on Ron like there was no tomorrow, and he was a pretty good Keeper. Even _if_ Harry caught the snitch, he wasn't sure that they would win. He looked down in time to see Ron trying to shout to Ginny through the noise. She smiled, an odd, scary smile, and sent a Bludger slamming straight into his face, her red hair flaring like a banner of blood around her.

The whistle sounded, and he could see the Slytherins on their feet, cheering. Madam Pompfrey fixed Ron's face as best she could, and he climbed determinedly back onto his broom, still covered in his own blood. They were given three penalty shots, and none of them made it past Nott, who had been their Keeper since the year before and was amazingly limber in the air. Anton scored again, passing to Pansy, and before Harry knew what was happening, Malfoy went into a two hundred and fifty foot nose-dive for the ground.

He followed, screaming in his head for his broom to go faster. The ground and Malfoy both seemed so far away, _too_ far away, and he cursed himself, because it galled something horrible for Malfoy to have surpassed him at the only thing he'd ever been better at then him. He saw one of Gryffindor's Beaters knock a Bludger at Malfoy, but he swerved around it gracefully, never slowing down. Harry wasn't so lucky. Ginny's Bludger hit him in the chest and shoulder just as Zabini's slammed into his leg. He barely held onto his broom, barrel rolling through the air, his collarbone and knee broken.

Then shrieks and screams of delight came from the Slytherins, and he felt ice form in his gut. Malfoy had caught the snitch less than two yards from the ground, coming out of the death-defying dive and hopping off of his broom as nimbly as a cat. Ginny and Zabini landed next to him first, and they kissed him wildly, right there on the field, a thousand eyes glued to them. When they broke apart, Ron heaving into one of the trashcans behind them, Malfoy held the game Snitch out to them, his eyes glowing like a man possessed. And their eyes mirrored his.

_End Flashback_

It got so much worse from there. These memories were killing him, slowly eating him alive like a deadly poison, and not for the first time, he wished for the sweet release of death.

_Flashback:_

Slytherin won the next match against them as well, taking the Quidditch and House Cups. Ron once again tried to talk to his sister, to no avail. Until one day, he caught her in a rare moment alone, in one of the many hallways. Harry was with him and tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen. He was convinced his innocent little sister was still in there somewhere. Ha. Virginia Zabini was _anything_ but innocent. A blind man could see that. He ran up to her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her around. Bad, bad idea. Her eyes blazed darkfire and a hiss escaped her lips.

"Get - your - disgusting - fucking - hands - off - of - me!" She growled, prying his fingers back until he screamed as they broke. She lifted a hand and he flew into the wall.

"What the fuck is going on?" Malfoy's silky voice said as he came around the corner. Harry had discovered that he was at his most dangerous when his voice got so quiet and smooth like that, and an involuntary shiver crept down his spine. There was something seriously fucking _wrong_ with all of them.

"Nothing, we were just leaving," Harry said, not sure that it was wise to draw their attention. But draw it he did. Their gazes slid over him like liquid scorn and he flinched, not liking the looks in those eyes at all.

"Really?" Malfoy drawled, his tone even lower than before. Harry nodded and went to kneel next to Ron.

"Stupid git." He whispered to him. "Stupid bloody git. I told you not to. Why can't you leave it alone?"

"Well," Malfoy said, his voice cutting like a knife, "he had better learn his place, and soon. He lays another finger on her and he'll _wish_ I'd killed him." Harry didn't know how Malfoy had heard him, and wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know. Ginny's, no, _Virginia__'s _voice floated to him like a tainted caress.

"One day, dear Golden Boy, you will both know your place. You will scream for hours, begging for the pain to stop, begging for your friends to be spared. And as you watch each of them die, you will die slowly with them, you filthy fucking halfblood." Then she turned, spitting on her brother, and glided away.

Zabini stepped from the shadows behind him, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Fear shot through him, because he hadn't even known the other Slytherin was there. Zabini gave him a knowing look, one that clearly told Harry he was aware of his fear, and that he would never have seen him had he not wished it. There was a warning there, too, a warning to stay the fuck away from Virginia. Harry nodded shakily, as he had no intention of ever going near her again. Zabini and Malfoy followed her down the passageway, their mocking laughter like salt in the wound.

_End Flashback_

The door to his cell opened, and instead of the usual grubby food, a Dark Knight entered. He stiffened, knowing what the presence of one of their most cherished meant. It bound him in black magical ropes and levitated him in front of it, out through the door and towards his last few hours of life. Gods, the fucking memories...

_Begin_ _Flashback:_

The war kicked into full swing that summer, and it became crystal clear that Virginia was very much a Death Eater. He couldn't call her by her old nickname anymore, just as he couldn't call Draco and Blaise by their familiar last names. Not after what she, no, what _they_, did. They came to the Burrow one night when the whole family was there, but Draco and Blaise stayed hidden until it was too late. She came to the doors in rags, begging forgiveness. She said Malfoy had kept her under the Imperius curse, but that he'd been killed a few hours ago, and that she was free.

Her family forgave her immediately, crying and hugging, telling her how much they'd missed her. Hermione and Harry stayed back, wanting them to have their moment, though something didn't feel right. After an hour or so, she asked if they would help carry in the stuff that she'd been able to bring. Once they were all outside the house, they attacked. Draco and Blaise appeared from nowhere, throwing shields over them and laughing in that disturbing way that only they could. The children were screaming and crying, and Virginia's parents and siblings looked shocked. Harry and Hermione went for their wands, but they'd taken them somehow.

They turned just as the Burrow went up in flames.

"Looking for these?" Virginia called sweetly, holding their wands in her hands.

"Ginny, baby, don't do this!" Her mother pleaded.

"Oh, don't worry, mommy dearest. I won't kill you _all_. Just a couple." She giggled, and the wands were eaten by fire that didn't seem to burn her skin. She let the ashes fall from her fingers, smiling at them the whole time. She lifted a hand, pointed a finger at Percy, and said, "Him." Percy was immediately pulled from the shields surrounding them, as if by a giant, invisible hand. He stood, looking at her defiantly.

"You sick bitch. You'd kill your own flesh and blood?"

"Blame it on yourself, Percy dear. Or on Ron. Or how about your precious Golden Boy? The know-it-all Granger? You were all there my first year, yet neither they, nor you and Ron, noticed your little sister wasting away. You were too busy trying to be perfect; Ron was too busy trying to soak up Harry's limelight. And none of you noticed that I was doing it willingly. Tom wasn't _really_ going to kill me in the Chamber that day; it was a trap for Harry. After that, I stayed close by playing the fool with the non-existent crush that you all so readily believed in. No one saw through it. No one but the twins. They always saw _me_." She gave a more-than-slightly insane laugh as the Weasleys turned as one to look at the silent twins.

"What is she talking about?" Arthur asked unsteadily. And then came the second betrayal.

"She means that we're not quite as stupid and childish as everyone likes to believe." One of them sneered, as they both pulled out their wands. Theirs, apparently, had not been taken.

"We remember the Old Ways." The other added. And because wizarding twins can only marry other wizarding twins, due to…stipulations, and because those sets of twins bonded for life, it was no real surprise that their wives, Parvati and Padma Patil, also whipped out their own wands. The four of them left the circle, small, satisfied smiles on their faces, while the other Weasleys could do nothing but sob raggedly.

"And I admit," Virginia continued as if the twins hadn't just turned traitor against their family, "I probably could have been pulled back in my second year, or maybe not. But none of you even bothered to ask if I was all right after spending a year with _Lord Voldemort_, so we'll never know. You all treated me like the plague after that. But do you know who didn't? Who understood me and what it was like being drawn to darkness? Who took care of me and loved me? Fred and George, certainly. But who else? Draco and Blaise." She said fondly, a dreamy look in her eyes before they went cold again. "They found me trying to kill myself, and saved me, protected me. They gave me the attention and devotion that none of you even tried to. So don't give me your pity-party shit, Perce."

"Gin..."

"_Crucio_"She said, giggling as he fell to the ground screaming and writhing.

Percy's wife had fainted, and his daughter was wailing with Mrs. Weasley while Mr. Weasley looked like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. Virginia waved a hand again and Percy fell still except for the sobs racking his body. She walked over and picked him up by the throat with one hand, and Harry heard gasps at her show of strength. Seconds later, she popped his head off like a grape and threw it at them. It passed easily through the shields, landing at his wife's feet. Bill had been throwing himself at the wards to no avail, but when his brother's head flew right past his face, he bellowed, resuming his actions with a fresh rush of adrenaline. Virginia giggled again, while Draco and Blaise stood like shadows of death behind her.

"Now, now, brother dear. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself. Those wards will kill you if you keep that up." She took her eyes from Bill, and they landed on Charlie. "Him." She said, and he was pulled from the wards by the same invisible source that had taken Percy. "Hello, Charlie. Nice to see you again."

"Ginny, please! We love you, why are you _doing_ this? That was your brother, for Circe's sake!"

"So are you. And Circe holds no power over me, nor does any other god." She replied, and he gave up, turning to the twins.

"_Why?_" He screamed at them, and they smiled coldly.

"None of you loved her." They said in unison. "We heard what you said about her late at night, we saw how you treated her. There are other reasons, but we're afraid you'll never know them. Suffice to say that it's because _we_ do love her. _Nabalesca_"

Black beams shot from Fred and George's wands, hitting Charlie in the chest. His body exploded, and bits of flesh and bone and gore covered those inside the shield before they fully comprehended what had just happened. Harry was in shock. The Weasley family had been just that to him. A family. And suddenly, he was watching the sweet little girl and two men who were like brothers to him, all of which he'd known for _years_, murder their own brothers in cold blood.

He couldn't feel anything. It was as if his mind had shut down.

He'd heard the horror stories of the last war, had heard the tales of unpitying violence and destruction, had heard the how the Death Eaters called it 'merciful vengeance', but he'd never really seen it before. It was mind-numbing and terrifying and it changed _everything_. Three more figures appeared out of nowhere next to Draco and Blaise, and Harry recognized them immediately. Jeran Zabini, Lucius Malfoy, and Voldemort, all of whom looked so very, very pleased.

"Have fun playing, precious one?" Voldemort's icy voice slithered over his skin.

"Yes." Virginia said simply, walking towards them and ignoring her family's horrified screams. Voldemort waved a hand, and she went from dirt and rags to silk and velvet in an instant. She gave each a kiss on the cheek while they gazed at her proudly, affectionately, and then Draco and Blaise each took one of her hands and they all Apparated away, the shield collapsing around those they had left behind with only grief and heartache.

_End Flashback_

Five years. He'd been able to hide, going from place to place, for five years before they'd caught him. It was careless of him really. He'd followed a foolish plan, and then let his guard down at the wrong moment. And he'd ended up here, at the Molidon's own hands. Ended up in this filthy, dank cell until they were ready to take him to Umbra. Apparently, they were ready.

_Begin Flashback:_

It drove Mrs. Weasley insane, and Bill did kill himself by throwing his body into the shields repeatedly. They took out countless others, creating destruction that hadn't been seen in millennia, not since their people had been worshiped as gods. They unleashed their wandless magic against the masses, wiping out legions of those who opposed them. Virginia and Draco were married by Lucius and her adopted father, Jeran, while Voldemort himself gave her away, and Blaise, of course, was the best man, while Pansy Parkinson and Bellatrix Black were the maids of honor. They adored her.

School was canceled, and by Yule, only ragtag groups of resistance still remained, hiding deep underground, more of them being flushed out daily. The muggles were all dead or had been sold into slavery, and the same went for the muggleborns. Dumbledore was dead at Draco's hands, and the hope of the people was gone. And when Draco, Virginia and Blaise had almost single-handedly wiped out all resistance, driving the world to its knees, when they'd risen Voldemort higher than he'd ever been, they cut him down ruthlessly in front of all of his followers.

And every one of those followers fell on their faces, proclaiming Draco and Virginia as Ice and Fire, Lord and Lady, King and Queen of the Dark. Blaise became Shadow, their Consort and Crown Prince, and they ruled with iron fists, merciless when necessary and actually quite fair to those loyal to them. And it was different then it had been with Voldemort. Their followers actually _were_ loyal. Scared shitless, yes, but loyal. And that's what made it much more frightening. The Midnight Court formed. They were the center of it, and it is said that they have achieved true immortality.

After them came the inner circle, or the first circle as some called it, and it consisted of those most highly favored. Then the second, third, forth and fifth circles. The rest of the purebloods were free, and there were thousands upon thousands of them, enough to start the world anew. And there was another spot in the Court. The highest, actually, above everyone but Ice and Fire. The Molidon, which means 'blood-spiller' in the Old Tongue. He's the most powerful and feared thing there is besides the King and Queen themselves, and the only one they have granted immortality along with them besides a few select others.

He is Blaise Zabini; he is Shadow.

He'd fallen completely into darkness, and answers to the King and Queen alone. Plenty of the devastation was caused at his hands. And finally, there were the Dark Knights. They were far below Ice and Fire, and far below the Molidon as well, but just above the first circle. They numbered thirteen, for the number really _did_ have significance, and they were the jewels of the Court. They were the most powerful, the cleverest, and loyal to the death. And they were rewarded richly, while bringing their families honor and favor. But the Malfoys and Zabinis were by far the most powerful of the families, as they were the families of the King and Queen.

All of this was known by everyone still alive. And this was not just Britain, but an entire planet. The skill of Apparation let their armies join with their allies easily and quickly, and they could destroy entire countries in a night, and had. America and Europe had been their greatest challenges, but there was no savior for them that time. Magic made their bombs useless, and a certain type of shield could stop bullets. They accomplished what Voldemort had only dreamed of. But, surprisingly, even though they decimated almost everything, except for the wonders of the Ancients, they rebuilt it once their rule was secure.

But they did not rebuild it as it had been before. There were no concrete cities, no cars, no planes, no pollution. Everything just seemed…_green_, no matter where you looked, unless it was up, up at a sky that was a darker blue than anyone had ever seen it before. So many stars shone at night that it seemed the sky was almost completely silver with them, and the sun looked red, bloody, making the days darker and the nights longer. The people lived however they wanted to live, be it in grand, sprawling mansions or in the very trees. Everyone and anyone who could claim purity thrived in the splendor of their choosing.

Villages and towns were also abundant everywhere, but they were not the typical peasant-like affairs that one imagines when those words are used. Magic was evident in everything, and the people lacked nothing. They had whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it, and they led rich, sublime lives. And then there were always the Seven Cities. All were enormous, positioned strategically over the globe, and they each housed tens of thousands. Four were works of pure marble, one in North America ranging over the borders of Manitoba and North Dakota, one in South America in eastern Bolivia, one in northern Russia, and one in Old Egypt.

Two were on the ocean floor, one three hundred miles south of the Hawaiian Islands and one in the middle of the Atlantic between the coasts of New York and Spain. The last, the capital, Umbra, was in the dead center of Antarctica, made entirely of ice and snow and diamond. He had never seen any of the Great Cities, for his presence in one would mean his death, but he'd heard stories from some who had, he'd seen pictures, and he'd been awed that such places could even begin to exist. But they did, and they were freely accessible as long as you had the one thing that he never would. Pure, untainted blood.

_End Flashback_

He glanced up at the Dark Knight that held him. They were recognizable by the beautifully disturbing tattoos on their faces and the clothes that they wore. Their solid black robes and cloaks were trimmed in silver and green and purple, but what distinguished them at first glance were the bloody thorns that twined through the colors. They wore no masks, as there was no reason to hide their identity. This one was female, and looked vaguely like Sirius. Then it hit him, although she looked much younger then he'd ever seen her before. _Bellatrix_. Once they made it above ground, she grabbed his arm and Apparated them away.

_Begin Flashback:_

Five years after the war was over, Harry was staying with a large group of refugees in one of the hidden caves. And it _was_ a large group, about a hundred and fifty. A scout came back one morning, telling them of a small group of the enemy that had camped two or three hours away. He said that they hadn't broken camp yet, and that they would be easy pickings. Because that was what the refugees had lived for by then. Every time they found a small group of the 'enemy', as they called them, they would ambush them. They knew it was risky, but it was worth it, to most of them at least.

It was the last small measure of rebellion that they had. But it had to be done quickly, because their unauthorized use of magic would be a beacon to the local authorities. The only way his friends would let him go was by taking Polyjuice potion, even though the ingredients were hard to come by. His face was just too well known, and they were hunting for him, although only half-heartedly. So their group set out almost immediately, ignoring the pleas of mothers and the elderly, who begged them not to go. Almost ninety of their number were leaving, mostly young people and older men.

The few left didn't agree with their view, didn't agree with them paying back death with death. But when you'd seen people you loved brutally murdered, the rage could eat at your soul like nothing else. So they left, _they_ went hunting, and they were so very confident. Ron and Hermione were at his side, and he was in a young Korean boy's body. The hike to the enemy camp felt like nothing because their blood was racing, adrenaline shooting through their veins. They reached the camp in what seemed like no time at all, and saw that the scout had been right.

It was a small camp of only ten or eleven, and there were no signs that there was anyone important among them. A group of Scouts, more than likely, nothing big. They attacked right before sunset, setting their tents ablaze. Eleven cloaked figures bearing the symbol of the Midnight Court Scouts poured out of the burning tents, wands at the ready. None of them wore masks or anything of the sort, and their hoods were pushed back. He'd been right; no one of any real significance was with them. The rebels waited for fear to cross their stoic faces as they saw how greatly they were outnumbered.

But nasty smirks twisted their lips, and two hooded figures dropped out of the trees, landing in front of them. The new arrivals pushed their hoods back, and a shiver of unease whispered down Harry's spine. Dark Knights. Pansy and Anton. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. It was bad, but not too bad. Even with the two of them, they still outnumbered them by far. It was just going to be a lot messier. So, even though their appearance was unfortunate, _very_ unfortunate, they were still confident, still ready to lose as many as it would take. But then a hush fell over the camp as something tingled in the air.

It was like a wash of stinging energy, energy so blank and black that they felt like whimpering and cringing. Another hooded figure dropped from the same tree that the other two had, but something wasn't right. The nasty sneers the Scouts were directing at them turned certain and pleased as the figure drew back its hood. A sickening dread filled Harry's stomach as he stared at a face as cold as ice and empty eyes that promised death in all ways, shapes and forms. There were gasps and exclamations of fear all around as he stepped forward.

"What _do _we have here?" The Molidon asked mockingly. "How interesting. Slaves don't usually come to us. Saved us a bit of time, though."

"Fuck you, Zabini." Ron said, stepping forward as Hermione desperately tried to shut him up. The situation was no longer good, and Ron should have known better. This wasn't Hogwarts, or some youthful game. Shadow's presence severely turned the tables; he was not one to be fucked with in any way. _We should have stayed in the cave. We never should have come here_, Harry thought cryptically.

"Do not speak that name! You will show Shadow more respect, blood traitor!" Pansy hissed threateningly, but she was waved silent.

"Those are brave words." The Molidon responded dryly. "From a long-defeated man."

"Just fucking _try_." Ron spat, and Hermione looked like she was about to hit him.

"As you wish."

Darkfire erupted in a storm surrounding Shadow's form, whipping around him viciously, and several people screamed. His eyes shone with power, and the darkfire began gathering in his hands. He threw them out, and a huge wave of it crashed into those at the front. It devoured flesh and spirit in seconds, and the battle began. Within three minutes, Harry could plainly see that Shadow was just toying with them. He could have killed every one of them in that initial wave, yet he was picking them off in pairs.

Harry motioned a few others that were fighting near him, and soon they were at his side. He told them that they had to concentrate on Shadow, team up on him. It was their only hope, and a slim one at the _very_ best. They slowly made their way to him, gathering more people to their group on the way, and they surrounded him. He was obviously aware of their actions, but did nothing to prevent them. Then a foolish young wizard broke formation and lunged at him. Shadow moved quicker than their eyes could follow, and the next thing they knew, the boy was dead at his feet, his neck broken.

They began throwing curses simultaneously, but they only ricocheted off an invisible shield that wavered black when they hit it. He laughed at them, moving with the inborn grace of a panther, and his eyes swept the ring of those surrounding him, which was growing ever larger as others of their number still alive caught on. He didn't look in the least bit concerned, and Harry wondered if he wasn't the first to try such a thing. He wondered if other commanders who had fought this dark menace had done the same out of desperation.

He also wondered how many had failed. Obviously all had seeing as how Shadow stood before them alive and more than well. He then wondered what in the fuck he'd been thinking. But they had no other choice, and dying would probably be better than being their slave. And for Harry, it most definitely would be, because he would be shown no mercy. The darkfire continued crackling over Shadow's skin, which Harry only then noticed was shot with dark streaks of purple and navy. A condescending smirk formed on that beautiful, aristocratic face.

"And what, exactly, do you think you're going to do?" He asked, his smirk deepening as his nostrils flared. "I can smell your fear. And you have every reason to be afraid."

"We are _not_ afraid!" Ron shouted from the other side of the circle. Shadow raised an eyebrow.

"You should be. And you are. You can't lie to me. Actually, I hope you _do_ draw my blood. You have no idea what happens _then_." The Molidon replied, his smirk vicious and his eyes deadly.

"We'll see." Ron spat cruelly. "Because I have something that will penetrate your precious shield. You thought you'd gotten the last of them, so you took the extra wards out of your shields. Oh yes, we have spies too. And I hid this long ago. For revenge."

Without another word, a pistol appeared in his hand, and a loud 'BANG' rent the air. A dark spot appeared above Shadow's heart on the green robe he wore, growing and spreading, and the rumors were true, because his blood was blue. They let out a cheer, but it died when Shadow didn't fall. He simply looked at Ron curiously, his eyes flaring silver and scarlet, before touching the wound. They watched the last of their hope die as a silver, blood-coated bullet pushed itself out of his chest, and the wound stopped bleeding, just like that. He looked up at their horror-stricken faces, his once-indigo eyes solid black.

"You know not what you have done." He said in a sickly sweet voice, right before twin screams of rage resounded through the camp.

Those who'd thought that the situation couldn't get any worse were proven wrong in that moment. Two figures appeared in separate, swirling clouds of fury. The one on the right was like a tornado of flames and lava, the one on the left a numbing, deadly whirlwind of biting snow and razor-sharp ice shards. The elemental storms died down enough to leave no doubt as to who the beings in front of them were. No, there were none living who didn't immediately know when they were in their presence. It was a feeling, a shiver in the air, in the very land.

"Who _dares_ draw the blood of our Bonded?" Fire demanded, looking out over the battle, which had frozen at their arrival. Harry tried, in that moment, tried desperately, to see the little girl he'd once known. But all he saw was the regal air of a Queen and eyes that were coldly furious even for all of her heat.

"Answer the Queen!" Ice's chilling voice rang out when no one responded. Frost instantly coated everything within eyesight, frost so cold you felt as though your skin were burning off. Anton immediately strode forward, and then dropped to his knees.

"It was your Majesty's brother. Ronald, I believe."

"Was it now?" Fire crooned softly. "Seize him and that mudblood bitch." The Dark Knight nodded, and before Ron or Hermione could so much as blink, they were wrapped in magical restraints and falling to the ground. "Harry will be here with them, probably in a different body. Find him."

Anton and Pansy both nodded and bowed, before starting a sweeping search of the area. Ice was already at Shadow's side, examining the nonexistent wound and the Royal blood that was still staining his robes, and then those eyes were scanning the terrified figures that seemed stuck in place, while Harry stayed perfectly still, his eyes locked onto the ground before him. He was not stupid, and he did not want to die. And if Ice's eyes met his, he would _know_, Harry just knew that he would, and then he would take him to one of those Great Cities and Harry would die a most painful death.

He had no idea how long it took before everyone was being herded like cattle and the King and Queen finally left, leaving Shadow in command after he'd told them quite sarcastically that he was fine. Rolling their eyes and muttering about why they even cared, he'd stolen quick kisses from each before they'd vanished, and then any mocking playfulness was gone as he turned back to his new batch of slaves. Gods, his very presence sent shivers down Harry's spine, creeping along the skin until it felt like a million biting spiders, and he wanted _away_ so very badly that it was like a physical ache.

And then…then Shadow was suddenly gone, and Harry took his only chance. The Dark Knights were still there, along with the Scouts, but he thought he could get away from them. And he probably could have had it not been a trap. He let his guard down because he was sure, so sure, of his ability to escape as he'd always done, and he should have been more suspicious, he should have kept a cooler head. But he was scared, so scared, and he hated being scared, and he typically did foolish things when he got like that. He only made it past the first set of thick trees before the Molidon was on him.

He'd never had a chance as the world went black.

_End Flashback_

They appeared in a lavishly extravagant hallway. It was roofless and wall-less, just water above them and on either side. No glass or plastic held all of that crushing liquid at bay, only power. They went through a doorway, and this time there _were_ walls, with doors along both sides, although there still wasn't a roof to be seen. Bellatrix took him through the fourth door on the left, and he saw that they were in a richly decorated bedroom. She allowed him to bathe and don new robes, and informed him that he would be staying there for the night. _And will no doubt be heavily guarded_, he thought sourly

A literal feast was brought in and laid before him, and he ate his fill for the first time that he could recall having done so in years. He wondered why they were bothering, though, because he knew that they would kill him. He was just glad that most of his friends had all been taken and killed long before, or it would have been much worse for them now that he had finally been captured. He was awoken early the next morning, after sleeping in a bed that felt like heaven compared to stone floors and hay. He was blindfolded and led out, and he knew that they would be heading for Umbra, the Ice City.

The trip seemed to take ages, and he wondered what the Royals would look like. He couldn't for the life of him remember, even though he'd seen them only weeks ago. Wondering just how hard Shadow had hit him that day, he nearly stumbled and fell when he felt that familiar pull at his stomach, signaling that they were using a portkey. He _did_ fall when they came out at their destination, and his hands and shins cracked against a hard, cold floor. He was drug to his feet again with one quick tug, and he marveled at her strength. He felt strange, numb, fuzzy, and he thought that it was probably better that way.

After several more long minutes of walking, they entered a room where the air was warmer, and the Dark Knight holding him pushed him to his knees and removed the blindfold. The King and Queen sat upon a dais, looking every bit like Ice and Fire. Their hair was plaited, going just past their waists, and the King's shown like liquid silver, the Queen's like a fall of flames. Fire's eyes had changed since the war had started; they were almost as black as her pupils, with smoky gray and startlingly red streaks and sparks flashing through them. Ice's eyes were molten mercury infused with midnight blue, and black shot from the pupils like cracks, like spider webs.

Shadow stood beside them, and _his_ eyes were one of the most frightening things that Harry had ever seen. There was power there, ruthlessness there, but it was the madness hidden by beauty that was terrifying. The King and Queen didn't look exactly sane themselves, but they hid it better than he did. Or maybe it was that he didn't even try. Maybe he _wanted_ Harry to feel the full effect of that gaze, the full, suffocating sense of how very close he was to dying. Should anything ever happen to the King and Queen and Shadow was to slip his leash...It was more than frightening to think of what he might do before he joined them in death.

The twins were there as well, Fred and George, Parvati and Padma, and they were a few feet to Shadow's left, stirring a cauldron and whispering to him as they worked. They, too, had changed, their hair hitting their waists and their eyes an odd, wolfish amber. The rest of the Dark Knights, but for one, since there were only twelve that he could count in the room, were lounged around in various spots on cushions and divans, and they were all ethereal, but not so much as the Sovereigns and the Molidon. Harry tried to call up hate for them, but he couldn't for some reason. He could feel the King and Queen picking through his thoughts, and a low, sultry laugh echoed through the room.

"Do not worry, little hero, you shall remember your hate soon enough. We have presents for you." Fire commented just a bit gleefully, and the others, like one cohesive unit, smirked nastily. She raised a hand, and one of the Knights opened a side door. A line of people in chains came through it, walking single-file. His breath caught in his throat and he wanted to scream as his world fell away completely for the final time. Ron, Hermione, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Seamus, Dean, Cho Chang...Their heads were bowed, their eyes on the floor as they stood in a row as they were bid.

"Go ahead." Ice's velvet voice commanded. "Look upon your savior now." Their heads lifted, eyes locking onto Harry, and they seemed to feel the same death of hope that he just had. Ron struggled uselessly, and tears welled in the others' eyes.

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione cried, sobbing silently.

"'Mione, what about Neville? Angelina? Lavender, Oliver?" He couldn't help but ask. She looked at him so sadly that if his heart hadn't already been broken a million times over, it would have shattered then. She turned as four hooded figures came out from behind the dais, and the others beside her were shooting them looks of venom, if it could even be called that considering how dead and lifeless their eyes were. When the cloaked forms pulled back their hoods, he gasped and felt his vision go black around edges.

"Purebloods, Harry. It makes a world of difference." Neville's lips said, although his voice was so different that Harry wouldn't have recognized it, as were his figure and face. Nowhere was the clumsy boy of their youth visible, just a confident, arrogant, handsome man in his place. Harry shook his head, trying to make a lie of the things that he was seeing.

"And now the fun begins," Fire crowed happily, standing. Ice waved a hand, and Harry's friends were strung up spread-eagled, about fifteen feet apart, in the blink of an eye.

"Who should be first, little hero?" The Queen asked, looking at their suspended forms. "Well, go on and decide. Or I'll have to rip a name from your lips."

"Try it, bitch." He snarled, reality finally coming back to him. Before he knew what was happening, Ice was there and he hadn't even seen him move. He swung at him, but it was like hitting a statue.

"Poor, poor Potter, there's no Dumbledore to save you now." Ice said dryly. "_Notcalicus_!" Pain like Harry'd never dreamed could be real engulfed him from head to foot, from heart to soul. It was so much worse than the Cruciatus, and he hadn't thought that it got any worse than that. He broke in under a minute, not even realizing that a name had slipped from his lips until it was hanging in the air like a pointing finger.

"Dennis!"

The pain stopped and he sobbed raggedly on the floor before he was hauled to his feet by the Molidon.

"Time to watch, Golden Boy." Shadow hissed in his ear, and then placed a charm on him so that he couldn't close his eyes or look away. Ice circled Dennis slowly, Anton at his side, and then the torture began. They beat every inch of his skin with a cat-o-nine tails, except _that_ whip had about fourteen tails with wicked looking hooks on the ends. Harry started to distantly wonder why the man wasn't passing out, and Fire's voice floated to him.

"They've been spelled, of course. They will stay awake through it all and be able to endure it all until we are finished." Then she _giggled_, and he almost threw up. They continued to flog Dennis, until his skin hung in strips, and then Fire took the whip as Anton passed it to her and stuck the hooked ends into Dennis's heart. That's when Harry heard the growls.

"Come here, babies." Fire crooned as she took Dennis's body down. A pack of…of fucking_ hellhounds_ came bounding up to them like goddamn _puppies_, and she threw Dennis's body in a corner, still in plain view. The hounds were ripping him apart seconds later.

"We need another name, now, little hero." Shadow crooned next to his ear, and all he could see were the hellhounds devouring his slightly-annoying but still-loyal friend, and Colin sobbing hysterically. Shadow shook him violently, and then that soul-consuming pain hit him once again. He hung on for as long as his body could take it before crying another name.

"Colin!"

"Very good, hero." Fire said in a mockingly sweet voice, walking up to their next victim. She waved a hand, and his bonds flipped him, slamming him on his back to the floor and securing him once again. Colin took longer to die than his brother, metal spikes being drilled into his body until he resembled a sick parody of a pincushion. His body, too, was thrown to the hellhounds, and by then Harry'd already been sick a few times, as had the other prisoners. He looked them over, wondering how he could pick another of them and thanking the gods that Sirius was dead. Ice, Fire and Shadow started laughing.

"Dead?" Fire mocked. "How amusing. Would you like to see your dear godfather?" She asked, and Harry felt the shards of his heart fall into his feet and rattle as they hit the floor.

Ice motioned to someone by the main doors, and Harry tore his gaze away, staring at the ground. How could they have Sirius? He'd died years ago, in the beginning of the war. Hearing footsteps approaching, he steeled himself for the wasted condition that Sirius was sure to be in. Raising his eyes slowly, it was not an abused, twisted man that he saw. His godfather stood straight and proud, looking barely twenty, his long black hair like a swishing curtain of soft onyx around him, and Remus was at his side, looking just as youthful and elegant, his eyes the same wolfish amber as the twins'. Shocked, Harry met Sirius's gaze, and the darkness in it ate at his soul.

"Wha…H-How?" He stammered, and a cruel smile formed on Sirius's lovely features. He could see the other prisoners' stunned expressions, as their eyes went from his godfather to Remus and back again.

"I am a Black." Sirius said, as if that was all the answer needed. Bellatrix laughed a poisoned laugh, and the corner of Sirius's blood-red lips lifted in a small, crooked, familiar smile.

"No." Harry mumbled, fighting against Shadow's hold on him uselessly. "No, you can't have become one of them."

"I've always been one of them, Harry." Sirius said, and his voice was somewhat gentle in an 'I'm-about-to-watch-you-die-and-do-nothing-to-stop-it' kind of way. "I was _born_ one of them."

"That's not true!" Harry protested, trying to find the man who'd offered him a home and always helped him beneath this…this _stranger's_ air of arrogance.

"You were always blind, Harry, I knew that from the moment I first saw you again at Hogwarts." Sirius said thoughtfully, his eyes staring farseeing at the wall behind Harry's head, as if some private movie played there. "But then again, so was James, and _he_ was pure. I loved James, you know, until he decided to marry and breed that mudblood bitch. Didn't we love him, Remi?"

"Yes, Siri, we loved him." Remus replied, that mellow, benign smile crossing his face in such a reminiscent way that Harry wanted to weep, weep more than he was already weeping. If there was ever a time for tears, it was the complete and final destruction of your life as you knew it. Right?

"He could have been great with us." Sirius looked back down at Harry and he began trembling, much to Shadow's amusement. "He could have married Andromeda and kept her the fuck away from that Tonks fellow, because she was completely infatuated with him for the longest time. But instead of melding the Potters and Blacks, he chose a fucking mudblood over my cousin, and look what happened to her branch of our bloodline. Tainted and dead because both of them were idiots. Quite like yours is soon to be."

"Sirius, you can't really mean to let them kill me! I'm your godson, I—"

"Yes, that _was_ quite brilliant of me, wasn't it?" Sirius interrupted, and Remus actually laughed softly, his heavily streaked hair falling over one dancing eye. What had happened to the sad, serious Remus of Harry's third year? To the righteous, responsible Remus? Who was this man with hair almost as white as Sirius's was black; this man whose face was years and years younger than he'd ever seen it, then it should have been possible for it to ever be again?

"Are you quite done taunting him, Sirius?" Fire called from her place by the hanging prisoners, one of the hellhounds licking her hand affectionately.

"I believe it was you doing the taunting, beautiful." Sirius responded in a singsong voice, and Harry could feel Shadow snicker as Fire's nose scrunched up and her lips pursed before it all smoothed out again into stunning perfection and she smirked.

"It was, wasn't it?" She asked, her eyes lit up with something awfully close to joy. Covered in blood and nastier things, sentencing person after person to their deaths, and she was fucking _joyful_.

And then, as she looked at him again, something dawned on him. She was a complete sociopath. But no, that wasn't quite right either, because it was more than that, different than that. It was as if humans came in two flavors for her, and if you fell on side A of that invisible line in her head, then you were safe. If you fell on side B…then you were nothing more than meat and bones and blood. It was like a farmer gathering up sick livestock for the slaughter, because the way she saw it, she wasn't sentencing _people_ to their deaths. She was just getting rid of rotten meat.

They were all going to die.

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Okay…That was part one! If you guys like it and want to see the rest, then part two will be out shortly. So **REVIEW** and let me know. (Yes, yes, I'm aware that's blackmail. But we all know that I'm an utter review whore, so get over it, lol.)


	2. Beloved Knights

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's mine, damn it! (cackles gleefully) ****

**Responses to Reviewers: tkmoore**, as always, love you to death, darling!!!!** Sunday-Morning**, ooooh, I just love you and your reviews! You're the best!!!!** sexyjunkie**, a goddess, huh? (snickers) Cool. Love ya! **morphed**, I'm ecstatic that you liked it, and I hope you like this part as much! (gives you small Draco replica to goggle at between chappies) **Haunted-Shadows**, awesome, I'm totally thrilled! You liked it, you really liked it! Yay! (glomps you endearingly) **bigreader**, no reason to beg, you know I love you!! **sillysun**, omg, your review had me cackling and blushing at the same time! I adore thee! lol **Thatswhatyouthink**, thank you!!!! **me**, this should answer most of your questions, lol. (smooches you for reviewing) **coffeechick87**, thanks, and here it is! **hell-as-i-no-it**, thank you, hope this was soon enough! **Lithui**, so we get to be whores together! Yay! lol **otaku sae**, in that other fic, it was Parvati. Blaise says her name at the very end, lol. Oh, and I adore you for reviewing, as usual! **Meghan**, thank you so much!! **mell8**, thanks! hope this was quick enough! **entrancer**, Anton's just a random side character in this, and no past is really needed. (read above author's note) But thanks!!!! Love ya! **AnitaBlake/BuffyFan**, thanks, glad you enjoy them! **Icy Lullaby**, yay, someone noticed the Halloween update! Love you to pieces, and thanks for reviewing this one! **Psi**, thanks, dear one! **RebbeccaTurner01**, whoo-hoo, go Richie! lol Glad you like, and…(smothers you with kisses and chocolate for reviewing) **childofoceans**, YES YES YES, you reviewed! How totally awesome of you! CrackingUp, oooh, you're awesome! Thanks SOOOO much!!!!

**Author's Note: **I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?****

**Author's Note: **Alright, I'm saying this once and only once. A few Slytherins in this story are OC's from one of my _other_ stories, because I needed Slytherins and JKR simply doesn't supply enough. I could have just used random names, I know, but I didn't want to, and I'm the author, damn it! (pouts) So I can do that. But don't expect them to be in the same relationships or be exactly like they were in 'Unexpected', all right? Completely different story, lol.

**Extended Summary **(because this website hates me and wouldn't show it all) Every DxG shipper knows about Fire and Ice, right? Wrong. You only thought you knew before, but that was just a glimpse, a glamour. These are the hidden chronicles, the black scrolls. Three shall tell this tale, and heed their words, for the Hero, the Knights and the Queen do not lie. 'Tis a story of darkness.

Right, now onto the story!

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Fire played games. Deadly games. It was what she did best, the twins reflected. Because she did everything fantastically when she put her mind to it, and her mind made everything a game. It made sense if you knew her. But most didn't, they just saw their Queen, their goddess, and her madness made them love her more. And she _was_ mad, but it was an ingenious madness, and the twins had only ever seen the same in two others. The King and the Molidon. And now another of her games was playing out before them, and as Harry screamed for the pain to stop, they remembered her as only they had known her.

_Begin Flashback:_

On small, silent feet, they crept through the noiseless house, knowing every board that creaked and how to avoid them from countless nights of sneaking out of their room and down the hall, then using their broomsticks to make it to the bottom of all of those winding stairs, because their mum had made sure that there was nothing silent about _those_. Bill and Charlie had been caught too many times going to meet some 'friend' of theirs, and Molly Weasley was quite sneaky when it came to her children. But no one was sneakier than the twins, except for their sister, who they were creeping out to look for in the first place.

It was late, almost three in the morning, and she'd never come and crawled into their bed as she did every night, dreams that she would never talk about in more than vague whispers dancing through her head. No one else knew about her nightmares, if that's even what they were, but the twins knew that if she hadn't shown up before an hour or two after midnight, then she'd gone wandering again. They'd tried to tell her that it wasn't safe, but she'd just smiled that soft, curious smile that only she seemed to possess, as if she knew a million things that they didn't, even though they were three years older than she was and less than a year from going to Hogwarts.

And there had been something in her voice, age beyond her own, as she had explained in low, velvety whispers that nothing of the night would harm her, that she was safer under the thick trees surrounding the Burrow (for she had never called it their home) than she was inside the wards around the house. She said the night spoke to her and they believed her, because she was different from anyone else they knew. So different that it shocked them, in a way that only children can be, that none of the rest of their family seemed to see the brilliant spark of _something_ within her. They just thought her quiet, withdrawn, but she wasn't, and not even the adults around them knew it.

She would talk to them for hours as the stars spread their celestial light in through the windows or, on nights like these, the prickly grass and gray leaves around them. They talked about anything they found worth speaking aloud, and those older and more worn by life would have thought that the things they discussed so seriously were silly, but to them, they were not. After all, what could be more important than the things all around them, the things like trees full of sweet sap and flowers in so many shades that they dazzled the eye? What was more fascinating than all of the things that different plants did when you mixed one with the other in just the right way?

A witch or wizard's formal education didn't start until they were eleven, but for those children who grew up from the moment that they were born surrounded by pure magic, _filled_ with it, many things were just…understood. Everyday seemed to harbor some new discovery, some new wonder, and their sister being one of those wonders had long been accepted and understood by them. So it was hard to fathom how no one else in their family seemed to see her value, her rarity. The twins knew all about how special and wondrous the purity of their blood was, they knew what it meant to be what they were, they knew that they were 'suns among stars'.

That's what their parents had always called it, after all, as they'd heard them tell their older brothers when expressing the importance of it all, even as they'd told them not to treat muggleborns differently than any other of their kind. Befriend them, love them even, but never, _ever_ forget the importance of your bloodline, never _fall_ in love with one. Even their father, who respected muggles and their inventions, did not want to see the old blood of his family die out, didn't want to see their name tarnished among the purebred circles with some smudge as that on it. '_I could just hear Lucius now_,' he would grumble, and the conversation would come to a close.

But they didn't need to worry, because Bill and Charlie and Percy all understood what the twins and their sister understood. No one knew if Ron did or not, since he was so thickheaded that lots seemed to pass right by him unnoticed. But even the elder three didn't understand Ginny, and that created a larger gap than age alone could make between the brothers. Because the twins had decided long ago that anyone who didn't see what they saw was blind and stupid, and they despised blindness, for it seemed foul somehow, even to their young minds. And not the blindness of the eyes, but of the soul.

They just couldn't understand how their family, their pure, powerful family, couldn't even glimpse what was right in front of them, living day by day under their roof like a silent shadow until the curtain of blackness fell over everything and she was solely theirs for hours, spilling her secrets, which seemed so deep for one so young. And as she would speak, they would watch, fascinated, as that spark within her would flare and wane like a candle flame jostled around in the wind. She would glow when she spoke of their latest prank, which she usually assisted them with as their unsuspected accomplice, then flicker as she remembered a report on the WWN.

'_A forest, this time in America, burned to the ground,_' she would murmur brokenly; or more vehemently, '_An oil tanker in the Arctic, all of those whales and seals and merpeople dead, not to mention the other sea life, and the muggles don't even care! I hate them!_', and they could do nothing but nod and agree, because they hated them for destroying everything that they loved, too. But then, maybe it wasn't real hate, not yet anyway. Maybe one could only experience real hate later, when you no longer carried childish illusion or hope but in the very core of you, where no one could see that dark, crushed place of all of those long-dead dreams.

But those introspections would only come later, and for now, the ten year-old twins thought of nothing but finding their errant sister. The moon was bright and full above them, but it soon became distorted as they slid into the trees with long familiarity. There was a clearing half a mile off, one that the three of them had found a summer ago on a hot, dry night that had seemed so stifling with heat that they'd been desperate to get out of the house with its crowded walls and faulty cooling stones. Making their way toward it, neither felt the need to speak. They were not always the cheerful, bubbling children that they were during the day.

No, the night changed them, made them see differently, feel differently.

Seeking their sister was routine by then, even though she was content to stay under their sheets most nights, her lips moving with flowing words so much more eloquent than the halting speech she used around those that she knew didn't understand her. Which meant their whole family. It was unsettling at times, when going somewhere public, because there were many witches and wizards out there who _did_ understand, who _did_ see something wild and strange and free in the little pureblood with the red hair so much darker than the others of their family, like the twins' own. And she would speak to them, too, in that smooth voice, though it lacked any affection.

No, her voice only held that particular emotion around 'her beloved twins', as she had started calling them. They had asked her what 'beloved' meant, for although they'd understood the core of the word, they hadn't understood its context. She'd smiled that odd smile again, her nose scrunching up adorably as she considered how to answer, and then she'd lifted one tiny hand heavenward and said, '_Beloved_'. Asking her, again, what she meant, she'd stayed quiet for another moment, her head tilted to the side, and her voice had come out in that velvety way that resounded with age and wisdom and something eternally young.

'_The night,_' she'd said, and they'd listened raptly, '_the night is beloved, the darkness and shadows. The sky and the stars are beloved, for they are of the night, and they are black and silver, and I dream of them, I dream of black and silver silk spun 'round and 'round me like snakes. Our blood is beloved, our magic is beloved, the earth is beloved, and you are beloved to me._' And they'd understood, as simply as that, because everything seemed to make perfect sense once she explained it in her own unique way. Years later, they would realize what was hidden in those words, in her dreams, realize that 'silk' and 'snakes' had been euphemisms for so much more, not to mention...

But they were unaware of their future then, as they finally broke through the trees and into the small clearing with its trickling creek that had seemed like a miracle that sweltering summer day. And sure enough, their sister was sprawled out on the grass, her legs crossed and her arms spread wide to either side, her long, long hair fanned out in spiraling tendrils like a sunburst around her. The deep scarlet was almost black in the moonlight, black with silver highlights, and they were reminded of her words again. Black and silver; beloved. Well, _she_ was most certainly beloved, with her eyes of charcoal gray, as if the two colors had been swirled into one.

She didn't even lift her head at their approach, knowing who it was instinctively, and they sank to the grass, one to her left and one to her right, lying down until they were propped up on their elbows, staring down at her. Her eyes were closed, as if she were soaking in the night through her very skin, but they opened slowly, so very, very slowly, and she smiled, one of those smiles that they cherished because it was _real_ and not one of the many fake ones that she had already learned to use around the rest of their family. She'd discovered long ago that they didn't like her intense stares and calm countenance, so she smiled stupidly at them and twittered occasionally.

And it fooled them because they wanted to be fooled. They didn't want to acknowledge what lived underneath her skin, didn't want to acknowledge how those sparkling eyes could go so cold and timeless in the space of a single second. So they didn't see, they didn't acknowledge, and they stayed firmly in their happy little worlds. But the twins _did_, and they loved her even more for it. It was just another layer of the ripe magic that was everywhere, in everything, and that it had to do with her made it all the more extraordinary to them. Her smile turned into a grin, and they asked the question of her they'd been meaning to, one that only led to more later on.

"Your dreams, what are they about?"

"They…" She paused, that thoughtful expression crossing her face, as if she wondered how to phrase whatever she wanted to say, and then she continued, her words careful and somewhat confused. "They are dark, and frightening, and I do not understand the feelings that surface in me during them. Because my fear seems to make them all the better, it makes them…I don't know. _Right_, maybe? But they are full of blood and death, and I do not know why such things seem so appealing when my eyes are closed. And lately, even when they are open…black and silver…"

She said nothing more that night, and they left an hour before dawn, leaving her alone (or so she thought) so that she could mourn the passing of the night as she always did. But they always stayed close, to make sure that she was _really_ safe, and that night, something happened that they'd never seen before. The leaves on the ground around her started swirling, lifted by a wind that they could not feel, only sense, and as their sister reached for the moon, for the fading stars, each of those leaves crumbled into ash as the first rays of the morning sun crested the horizon. And her eyes, for the barest moment, flickered like the fires of Hell.

They glanced at each other, for both knew that what had just happened should have been impossible, even for a witch like their sister. But then they realized that there _was_ no other witch like her, and that she bent the rules of what was possible and what was not. They respected that, as they believed that rules were made to be broken, especially by purebloods such as they, and they knew, even as the last of the darkness became thick and almost alive, centered around their darling sister, that they would follow her anywhere. They also knew that the cold blackness around them was not Light magic, but that didn't matter, their parents' hushed warnings dying in their ears as they voiced the only part that was important.

"It's magic. Her magic."

_End Flashback_

They'd loved Hogwarts when they'd started, but leaving her had been horrific. What if she'd been hurt? Killed in some freak accident? Sure, they'd known all of that was highly unlikely, but then again, hadn't they seen the impossible happen before, always centered around her? So to ensure themselves that she was fine, they'd talked through the floo every night in the common room, and wrote her scroll upon scroll of all that they'd been doing, so that she wouldn't feel as left out as they knew she had. Waving to the palace guards at the door to let the hellhounds in, remembrance twisted along on its thorny, sinful path.

_Begin Flashback:_

It was when the twins were about to start their forth year and Ginny her first that everything shifted, and fate started moving forward. They had just left Gambol & Japes, the afternoon sun beating down on their heads and making everything look shimmery, and they were crossing in front of Knockturn Alley, wishing that they had enough time to sneak inside again, their hoods covering their telltale hair as they crept from shop to shop. But they didn't. _The next time, though_, they promised themselves, and they'd almost turned away when Ginny froze, her eyes locked onto something in that shadowed entrance, or rather, someone. _Two_ someones.

Their faces were obscured by patches of the darkness that seemed to constantly coat that place, but the same thing gave them away that gave the twins and Ginny away. It was like that for the oldest of the old families, some special trait being passed down from generation to generation that had nothing to do with genes and science and everything to do with magic, unsullied, undiluted magic. For the Weasleys, it was their flaming hair that was usually so bright it was almost orange, but for a few exceptions like the three of them, in which case it was the color of blood spilled from a deep, deep wound. And then there were also their freckles, of course.

But for the two that none of them could rip their gazes from, it was their eyes and their hair. The one standing against the wall had hair so black it was almost cobalt, and eyes darker than any sapphire could dream of being. The other was standing right in front of him, his hands on the stone behind the dark-haired boy's waist, whispering something into that ebony mane. His hair and eyes were one and the same, metallic moonlight, and Ginny made some small noise, some small, almost helpless noise unlike any they'd ever heard from her. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and she looked half-terrified, half-thrilled.

But strangest of all for the twins was seeing sparks so similar to their sister's, and yet so different, shining within the two of them, nearly bursting through their skin.

"Ginny?" They asked softly, but her eyes never left the two boys, and they had that gleam in them, that gleam that they possessed only after she awoke from another dream, crawling up between them in the dead of night when most everyone else slept on undisturbed. But there was something else there as well, as if something had just clicked for her, and she spoke slowly, as if every word were delicious, delectable.

"Black and silver…blue and mercury."

They watched her change that year, watched something consume her, but she didn't speak of it in the beginning, and they didn't ask. They just made sure that she ate enough and that she slept peacefully between them in the dorm they shared with Lee Jordan, who never seemed to notice, and if he did, he wisely stayed silent. He knew how protective they were of their sister, he knew how close the three of them were, and he knew that the twins wouldn't tolerate any shit regarding her. It wasn't until one night when she came in with haunted eyes and blood on her hands that they realized what was going on. They wanted to help her stop it at first, but…

"It's so…perfect." She whispered, and they were enraptured from her very first word, as usual. "He explained it all to me, he explained so much, and it made sense, perfect sense."

And then she'd explained it to them, and it _had_ made sense, because she knew just how to say it to make them understand. She always had. So they didn't stop her from setting a trap for their brother's friend, because she mattered more than any other and always would. It was somewhat startling when they realized that they would allow her anything, anything at all, but they didn't question it. So what if she had a mad glimmer in her eyes from the magic she was learning to invoke, teaching them to invoke? Their eyes were beginning to take on that glimmer as well, and it didn't seem to matter, because it felt so _good_ that they knew they could never stop.

Never _want_ to stop.

It was surprisingly easy to continue acting 'normal' around everyone else, except for Lee. He could see it, feel it, and he wanted some, too. So they no longer hid in empty rooms and hidden chambers, their dorm becoming their haven. Ginny rarely slept in her own anymore, and the other Gryffindor girls her age stayed clueless, because she was becoming quite the witch, and her spells and charms worked wonders. So most early mornings found them in a pile under the blankets, praying that the sun would disappear for just a few more hours, before Lee would inevitably roll off of the end of the bed after a stray foot in the ribs.

And then the end of the year came, and they waited anxiously in their dorm for her, having sent her off full of their magic to give her strength for the trial ahead. It would help her bring back Tom Riddle, and they'd aided her simply because she wished it so. But she didn't come back, and the hell following began. Their family had been clueless about her before, but then they started _looking_, looking for what they'd never allowed themselves to see. And while they showered her with sweet words and tearful kisses, their eyes were glazed with new perception. And the twins hated them for the first time in their lives, hated them like they'd never hated anything or anyone.

Dumbledore also looked at her differently, his twinkling cheerfulness falling away for the briefest of moments, something hard and calculating in those sky-blue eyes, as if she were some sort of monster, and that earned him their loathing as well. It was gone from his old face almost instantly, but it had been there, and they would always remember it. Just as they would always remember the whispers that summer at the Burrow, whispers about her that all three would sit on the stairs at night and listen to, whispers about something being wrong with her, something being twisted inside her, something being dark and strange.

Their family told themselves that it had only just happened, that it was the diary's fault, the Dark Lord's fault, but somewhere deep within them where they never, ever wanted to look too closely, they knew it to be lies. They'd tried to include the twins in on their accusations and suspicions, and the looks of revolted disgust that had been leveled on them had made them cringe with shame. But looks, no matter how venomous, hadn't stopped them, and something had faded in Ginny's eyes, something that made the twins want to kill every single one of those whisperers. For the three of them, their family died that summer, and they were all that was left.

It was a pretty delusion until they could make it truth.

_End Flashback_

And make it truth they had. Molly was dead, Arthur was dead, Bill and Charlie and Percy were dead, and the last of them was throwing up for all he was worth as—what was that mudblood's name? Calin? Collid? Something of the sort, anyway, and Ron was positively _green_. The color didn't suit him, though, not at all. It was probably the pumpkin-colored hair. Their eyes met Shadow's from where he held Harry, and they shared a knowing glance before his traveled to Ice and Fire and theirs followed. So much had changed since that glimpse in Knockturn Alley…

_Begin Flashback:_

Three more years passed, and the twins and Lee failed their seventh years in order to stay with her, because the thought of leaving her alone in that huge castle, with no one to talk to or sleep with, was utterly unbearable. And what did school matter to them, anyway? They didn't learn anything that they didn't already know, and the things that they _were_ interested in and studied so secretly and passionately would never be taught at Hogwarts, not with Dumbledore as the Headmaster. But they did need a teacher for _that_, someone who knew what they were doing and could really show them all that there was to be found and enjoyed in darkness.

And Ginny, who was fifteen and one of those rare beauties that was just starting to morph into something beyond beautiful, found them what they needed, even if it was by accident. She came in one night, looking dazed and dreamy and terrified, her eyes darker than they'd ever seen them and glowing madly. Thinking that something had happened, that she was hurt, they made it within five feet of her before they stopped, feeling an invisible web of black energy pulsating off of her, _out_ of her. They'd never felt anything like it, and they ran fingers over the air in front of her wonderingly, wanting to grasp it and clutch it and roll in it.

"What on earth…" Lee wondered aloud, trailing off as she pinned him with those eyes, and her voice was warm honey.

"Black and silver, blue and mercury."

"Wha—" Lee started again, but the twins cut him off.

"Sweet fucking gods." They breathed, everything suddenly fitting together, and she smiled a smile more radiant than any ever witnessed before by mortal eyes. "Malfoy and Zabini."

They'd been suspicious because of an incident at breakfast earlier that morning, but they had never expected anything to come of it like the look of growing adoration in her eyes, the deadly-edged smile on her face, the dark bruises littering her pale throat…No, they had never expected her to fall in with those two, two that despised them and their names and everything that their families stood for. Neither Malfoy nor Zabini would give them the time of day if they were dying right in front of them. In fact, if they were there to see it, then they had probably done it themselves. _Gods, please let her know what the fuck she's doing_, they thought desperately.

Because they could deny her nothing.

"Okay, I'm missing something here." Lee stated, one eyebrow arching. "What in the hell are you talking about? What do Malfoy and Zabini have to do with this?"

"Everything." Ginny whispered, twirling around and around in lazy circles until she fell upon her brothers' bed. "Absolutely everything."

"Riiiiight." Lee said in a consoling voice, then leaned over and whispered to the twins, "I think she must be drunk. That or she's completely cracked up."

"I heard that." Ginny scolded from her graceful sprawl on the crimson comforter. "And I'm neither, thank you very much. At least, not _very_, anyway." The last was followed by a short giggle, the tone of which didn't help her case against lunacy.

"Okay. But what do _they_ have to do with it?" Lee asked again.

"Everything." That time it was the twins who spoke, and he turned to them slowly.

"Are you trying to tell me that there's some _meaning_ behind this drivel?"

"Yes."

Lee sighed and sat on his trunk. "Fine. Now, will you please explain?"

"What do you see when you look at them?" The twins asked, and Lee's eyes automatically flicked to Ginny, then back again. "Exactly. But they are different still, are they not?"

"Yes. But that is none of our concern." Lee agreed hesitantly.

"They said that they will teach us." Ginny suddenly intoned silkily, and three sets of eyes returned to her swiftly.

"_What?_" Now the twins were questioning her out of shocked disbelief.

"They said that they will teach us." She repeated, sitting until she was propped up on her hands, that heavy hair falling over her face and leaving one eye to study them through the ringlets, the other still free and sparkling. "You know that we couldn't possibly find anyone better to do it. I don't think that there _is_ anyone better. And I know that there won't be in a couple of years."

"But…" Lee started, his brown eyes startled and still considering, "But why would they agree to such a thing? They hate us, remember?"

"Says who?" She asked, a mocking twist to her lips. "Have they ever, even once, said or done anything to one of us personally?"

"No." They complied, still slightly reluctant.

"Then what's stopping us?"

"Ginny, they're…I mean, I know that we've been dabbling about in the Dark Arts, but they…" Lee couldn't seemed to string a whole sentence together, but they knew what he meant, because any pureblood with half a brain could feel the dark energy roiling within them, and Ginny's look hardened.

"If you don't want to play anymore, Lee, then just say so." She crooned, and he flinched before shaking his head emphatically.

"No, no, I'm in for whatever, you know that. I'm just saying that they're dangerous, Gin, real dangerous. If we do this, there's no turning back, because they'd kill us before they'd let us leave it all, wouldn't they?" When she said nothing, he asked again, his voice stronger. "Wouldn't they?"

"Yes." She intoned softly, her eyes defiant. "But if you're scared…"

"You're damn right I'm scared, Gin." He said shamelessly, because this was dire, menacing shit that they were fucking with, and he would be a fool not to be afraid. "I've heard things, alright? Sadistic, fucked up things, and if even half of them are true, and I believe they are, then those two are seriously depraved. How could we trust them not to kill us on some…some whim?"

"Because if they were going to do that, they would have by now. Unless you piss them off in the future, of course. But why don't you ask them yourself?"

As soon as the last word escaped her, the air seemed to split open and Malfoy and Zabini were just _there_, less than a foot from Lee with blades at his heart and throat. They thought he was going to faint at first, but the two Slytherins snickered and backed away, their daggers disappearing too fast for the eye to follow where they went. Both had chin length hair that seemed to be growing even as they stared at it, as if some glamour or another was falling away, and sable and silver soon reached well past their knees. Those deadly eyes seemed to look right into the center of them, where dark things were hidden even from themselves, and they smirked.

"So, Gryffindors finally want to play with dark magic again?" They asked, and their voices were different too, a sensual overload on the skin that made them shiver. They didn't know what to say, so they looked at Ginny, and the Slytherins followed their eyes. "Ah, of course. The intriguing Virginia Weasley made you do it, hmm?"

"Not _made_ us, no." Fred replied, finding his voice, and George finished for him.

"Just…directed."

The Slytherins' eyes turned judging, sweeping over them, that ageless, infinite look in them that Ginny sometimes got in her own, and then they laughed, and showed them true magic. The twins, their sister and Lee learned from them from then on, every night spent in the bowels of Slytherin, deep underground where so many things were done that those sleeping right overhead knew nothing of, not even Dumbledore himself. They were surprised to see other purebloods there as well the first time that they had gone, purebloods from old families and separate Houses that studied the Dark Arts secretly and knew Slytherin as a safe-haven for learning knowledge of all kinds.

Since they were under blood oaths, Snape made no effort to hide his involvement, seeing as how no one could speak of it without a very nasty death before they even finished. Not that any of them would anyway, because the seductive lure of the darkness was too strong, too encompassing, and it tied them together more than any oath. It was like finding another family within those walls, a feral family that would protect you at all costs unless you betrayed them, and if that were the case, pray that the gods saved your pitiful soul, because you would be seeing them soon. And the Underworld was a bad place for blood traitors.

So they studied them, learned from them, befriended them. The latter they had thought to be impossible, but it wasn't, not once they'd proven themselves and their dedication to the Old Ways. And their sister, their beloved _Virginia_, was doing much more than just befriending two of them, falling hard and fast into their slithering snares. But hell, so were the twins. Just not in the same way that she was, not exactly, anyway. And Lee…Well, Lee had become quite obsessed with one of the Slytherin sixth years, a girl named Melody that had hair the color of snakewood and eyes greener than Harry's. And the twins had gotten another surprise, as well.

Because who was there every night, lounging on velvet pillows as if they'd always been there? Why, the prim-and-proper Patil twins, of all people. But they were anything but _that_ down so deep in the dungeons, away from the prying eyes of those that just didn't understand. No, down there they were as wild and fey as everyone else, and the twins were seeing them in an entirely new light. They'd always been beautiful, but too snooty for their tastes, but now they were _real_, full of depth and mystery, and they were captivating. But not so captivating that the twins forgot about their sister, because nothing could make them do that.

No, they watched her, watched as she sunk farther and farther into an unseen abyss deeper than any that they, or anyone else for that matter, could reach. Except for the two Slytherins that had seduced her without even really trying, the two that had drug her that far down in the first place, down and down into that black void that can crush the mind if one's not careful enough, powerful enough. But _they_ were, and they showed her, because whatever that brilliant spark that each of them possessed was, it tied them together in ways that no one could truly comprehend, even though all got the main gist of it.

That summer, they all took the Dark Mark, let it be branded into their skin in a way that had left them panting with wicked pleasure, and the…_festivities_ that night at Malfoy Manor had been otherworldly. And it had not only been filled with those of them from Hogwarts, but hundreds of purebloods from the world over, the elite of the elite that were deemed worthy enough to merit an invitation. The twins could clearly remember the pride on the faces of the parents who had attended, which was most if not all but for theirs, and they'd felt only a moment of regret that the rest of the Weasleys would never feel the same, never give in to their true heritage. It was their loss.

And as for Voldemort himself, he was…different than they'd ever imagined. Virginia had been the only one to talk to him during her first year, but this was an older him, a wiser him, and they each loved him in their own way, because he made it damn hard not to. He'd put on shows about his cruelty to his own before in order to spread fear, but it was just that, shows. Unless he was angered, of course, but even then it was usually one of the first circle that ripped the offender into shreds. Voldemort was treated with the respect and devotion that was owed to him as a Dark Lord, that was owed to him as the one that would lead them back into an age of purity.

For who was purer that him, the heir of mighty Slytherin? Only three, four, maybe five families in the world could claim a lineage as pure as his. And they knew that he was pure because they could _smell_ it, they knew that the rumors started by Dumbledore about him being a halfblood were false because they could _taste_ his unmixed blood upon their tongues. And the twins, backed by their sister's lovers, opened one shop, their joke shop, in Diagon Alley, and another shop, one for them to…play in when they couldn't make it to Slytherin undetected, in Knockturn Alley. It also gave them a place to meet with other Death Eaters.

Their sister went back to school, placed into Slytherin where she should have been all along by a few pulled strings on the Board of Governors, which had long been in the Malfoys and Zabinis' pockets, and they still stayed in Slytherin most nights, since there were ways through the castle's wards to that glorious retreat. Padma and Parvati stayed with the twins both there and at their new flat in the wizarding section of Southampton (which they had to sneak out to get to), while Lee rotated as well in order to keep seeing Melody. They frequently visited Malfoy Manor, as well as the Zabini and Patil estates, and so many others that they could hardly keep track.

Virginia no longer hid what she was from the other Weasleys, becoming a Zabini, but the twins did, because that is what the Dark Lord wished for them to do. He wanted to wait until it would hurt them the most, and so did they. They still remembered the looks and the whispers, and they would make those who hurt her pay dearly. They had been shown how _easy_ it was to kill, to end someone that they disliked or hated or didn't even know at all with barely more than a word and not so much as a twinge of guilt. But they had also been shown how to heal themselves and others, how to stitch up the mental and physical wounds that bled freely with patches of pure darkness.

Life was anything but boring.

_End Flashback_

The mudblood's name was Colin, or so said Hermione, who finally snapped and started screeching his name like a broken record. It really was quite distracting, and to top off the racket, Colin was a screamer. There was something nice about those pain-filled shrieks, though, something that made them want to slide their hands through the pool of blood underneath him and bathe in the scent of his fear. Fear was good; it smelt good, tasted good, sounded good, like sweat and wine and the frantic thrumming of the victim's heart as it raced inside their chest. The war had been good, too, as it had been thick and coated with fright of all kinds.

_Begin Flashback:_

The year came and went, and the war started for real. They had married Padma and Parvati months before, which had thoroughly delighted both families, though for very different reasons. So the night that Virginia showed up as planned on the front doorstep of the Burrow in filthy scraps of cloth and covered in bruises, it was no big thing that the twins and their wives happened to be there. Molly had gathered all of 'her flock' to her, as she called them, and it was the perfect opportunity to spy and make sure that they were all there for Virginia's appearance. They were, and the night went as it was meant to, their plans falling together seamlessly, as usual.

Dear old mum went mad, Bill, Charlie and Percy all died, and the others got to live with it. Let them whisper amongst themselves now, let them blame and accuse. It was earned that time. They had gotten their revenge, however heartless it may have seemed to some, but they had never claimed to have large hearts to begin with. They were cruel, they knew that, and they were more than likely completely evil, they knew that as well. But they were happy, and they liked who they were and who their friends were, and they wouldn't have changed any of it, not for anything. Darkness suited them, and they courted it wantonly.

But not as wantonly as Draco, Blaise and their sister did.

The three of them were cherished by the Dark Lord for their power and their velvet brutality, and with them at its head, the war started with a bang that seemed to echo on forever. There were no more quiet assassinations in the wee hours of the night, no more singular raids. They wiped the entire fucking world clean in little more than six months, and they started it all over again, they way it used to be, the way it always should have been. Virginia married Draco in a ceremony unlike any ever seen before, pleasures of every kind abounding that night, and the strongest, darkest powers in their world came in force to see such a joining.

It was one that they'd never thought to witness, due to the age-old, Malfoy-Weasley rivalry, but some things are simply destined, and they witnessed the binding of two of their oldest, purest families. Well, actually _three_ of those families. Because Blaise, who had been the first one to See their union and what it would set in motion, and who had been adamant that they continue with it and 'stop bloody fussing over him so goddamned much', found what love, even love as dark and utterly morbid as theirs, could drive people to do as the newlyweds kneeled at his feet and asked him to bind with them, to keep them whole and not deny them half of themselves.

And what could he do but drop to his own knees, the smallest glimmer of something like wonder in those cerulean eyes that grew madder everyday? What could he do but accept and swear those lasting blood oaths before the gathered nobility? What else could he have _wanted_ to do? Nothing, not even the twisted little games that gave him so much joy. And the twins were happy for them, because it was…just the way it should be. Almost, anyway. And then, one night in Dresden, Germany, Draco found Dumbledore. He, Blaise and Virginia had seduced three Ministers and snatched the old man's Secret Keeper, and they were barely, what, seventeen, eighteen years old?

All knew there was something remarkable about them. But they didn't know just _how_ remarkable until Draco came back with the old fool's corpse and not so much as a scratch on himself, at least not physically. But those who knew him best saw the scratches, deep and ugly in the very core of him, and when they asked him what had happened, none were prepared for what he told them. He had broken into Dumbledore's mind before he killed him, sucking out his knowledge as a Dementor would a soul, and he had seen things, impossible things. And so they learned of the greatest betrayal they had ever known, one that they had never even truly considered.

For their Lord should have been above reproach.

But he was not, and it was quite devastating when they first heard of his true heritage. It was not rumors that Dumbledore had spread, but truth, and after the grief and numbness came pure, raging fury. But none, not even the older Death Eaters, matched the cold, cold anger of the Dark Lord's precious three. Something changed in them that night, something _grew_, and they called an assembly right there on the last battlefield, where they had achieved full domination of the world less than a night before. All came; all could not help answering that dark call, a call that, for the first time, was set in motion by someone other than the Dark Lord.

And they knew who set their Marks ablaze with pain and pleasure, they knew the three that were drawing them from all over to that blood-blanketed field, and so did Voldemort. He arrived last, those red eyes calculating and somewhat wary for the first time that any of them could remember, and it was also the first time that they gazed upon him with anything but pride. He had lied, lied, lied, he had _betrayed_ them, and the family couldn't stand for that. Because in the end, the rules applied to everyone, since they only had one or two to begin with. His deceptive glamours were striped from him, revealing his impurity, and he was charged with treason and treachery against his own people.

It was punishable by death; real, true, complete death. The final death.

That is, if there was anyone strong enough to kill the one accused. Luckily for them and unluckily for Voldemort, there was. Those that had followed him and what he stood for more faithfully than any, actually. And they watched, they all watched, as Virginia, Draco and Blaise hit a new level in their power, one several shades darker than ever should have been possible, and that wretched fury spilled over and engulfed their one-time mentor and friend. They fed his fucking soul to demons in a positively grisly display, and every person on that field fell flat on their faces before them. In one night, the tables turned completely, and Old Royalty ruled once more.

That night, they became known as Ice, Fire and Shadow to all who still lived; the High Royals of the Darkness.

As Princes and brothers to the Queen, the twins were given their choice of the land they wanted as theirs, and they chose the British Isles; Ireland, Wales and Scotland included. Settling things there and leaving their wives in command, they went to their sister's side and helped her, her lovers and their friends erect the Seven Cities, and gods, they were _magnificent_. The Court formed, the Molidon was given his title, and the Dark Knights were selected carefully, eventually consisting of the twins and their wives, as well as Pansy, Anton, Melody, Lee, Sirius, Bellatrix, and three other former Slytherins, Sebastian, Daphne and Theodore Nott.

Their Dark Marks were bound to the Sovereigns and the Molidon, they had been ever since they'd overthrown Voldemort, but every free citizen alive had one of those. So the Dark Knights, after many complaints of wanting something of their own, were given different Marks. Tribal thorns done in black ink that shimmered green trailed down the sides of their faces, their throats, their arms and sides and hips and thighs and calves. The thorns seemed to dig into their skin, blood weeping from the wounds, and the Marks had been spelled and stabbed into their skin with the utmost care by the three that they served.

And there had been just a bit of wonder in the Sovereigns and the Molidon's eyes as they had done them, because their Knights had begged for them, and…

And the new Marks bound them, bound them heart and soul, forever, for eternity. It made Ice, Fire and Shadow's will their own, made their thoughts and feelings and desires mean more than anything, even the Knights' own lives. Had the High Royals told them to go to the tallest tower of the city and throw themselves from it simply because they wished to watch them hit the ground and listen their bones break, then they would do it in an instant, they would _want_ to do it in an instant. But they hadn't been forced on them; anything but _that_ for the High Royals' most favored. No, the Knights had pleaded for them, pleaded because to be closer to them was to be closer to heaven, their heaven.

Years passed quickly, and yet slowly all the same, because when things are perfect, life and time blur into one long picture of peace. They spent most of their days learning ever more about their magic, for the knowledge to be gained was endless when one opened themselves to it, and their time was split between their own land and the capital, Umbra. The Ice City was truly the most beautiful thing ever seen, in the darker days or the longer nights, by mortal and immortal eye alike. And as for immortality…Two years after the end of the war, they did it. The King, the Queen and the Molidon found the key, that missing element that allowed you to survive _anything_.

They tested it on themselves first, unbeknownst to any, and instead of just saying something, they spontaneously decided to try it out in front of the Court at dinner one night. Fire had later told the twins that she'd wanted nothing to do with it, since the only people that she couldn't bring herself to truly harm were her Bonded, and they couldn't have hurt her in such a way either. So they fought each other instead. They wouldn't let anyone else try out the theory, after all, and if one died, then the other would wish to go swiftly afterwards anyway, and Fire would follow in mere days. So it was risky, very risky, but they had to know, because they feared nothing.

That didn't make it any less fearsome for those watching, however.

They just suddenly, out of fucking _nowhere_, leapt from their thrones and attacked each other at the High Table. It was explosive and destructive, and none had been in the slightest bit prepared but for the Queen. The very ground shook with the collision of power, and the guards and the Dark Knights were lost, torn, because they had no idea what to do. They were sworn to protect both Ice and Shadow, and the King would have come first had it been any other, but it was instant death by the King's own word, which made it law, to lay a malevolent hand on the Molidon. And the Queen, whose command could have changed that, stayed silent.

The twins had never been so conflicted about any decision, but it swiftly became too late, as those that had never even raised their voices at one another simultaneously removed each other's heads. Utterly fucking horrified, the Court dissolved into complete chaos as Fire slid lifelessly from her throne, her throat splitting open of its own accord and pouring blood in a grisly beryl fountain down her chest. The twins were at her side in seconds, and no one seemed to be able to do anything but stare or scream as they helplessly watched their High Royals die. Their sister's lifeblood flowed quickly, so quickly, and the King and the Molidon lay in pools of their own.

Their blood was blue, bright blue, almost purple, as if oxygen had yet to hit it and turn it crimson, and it shimmered with hints of silver. Royal blood on Royal stone. Gods help them all. The twins closed their eyes tightly, trying to make it all go away, the denial and panic thick and thrumming in their chests. But then Fire's hands tightened into fists, her nails slicing through their robes, and their eyes shot open to see that hers were turning black, so black, the smoky gray within them surviving only in streaks, and they were shot through with red that flared like flames. Her lips parted in a silent gasp, giving them a glimpse of a tongue turned as black as those maddening orbs.

"Fire?"

But she wasn't paying attention to them, her gaze trailing over them as the hideous wound on her throat closed with tiny stitches of darkfire, and she crawled away from them to where her lovers' bodies lay in pieces. Few things could make the twins nauseous anymore, but watching her wrap those small, dainty hands in their hair before lifting their heads off of the floor _did_. But that ill feeling was shocked back into submission when they saw the eyes in those heads, the eyes that still held a deadly, startling intelligence, eyes that had changed as hers had changed. Silver cracked with black and blue, indigo fractured with ebony and mercury.

Each studded with the smallest specks of scarlet.

She sat in between where their bodies lay while the Court watched the rest of the macabre scene unfold in frozen dread, thinking that she was about to lose it completely when she realized what had happened. But they couldn't see those eyes like the twins could, they couldn't see the unimaginable sight that the twins were seeing. They all, however, saw her place those heads back upon the bodies' necks like one would dolls that had been pulled apart, they all saw those bodies jerk as a flare of pure blackness obscured everything for a heart-stopping moment, and then they were looking at the King and the Molidon again, both of whom had risen, their fingers running over their throats.

The only thing left of injuries vicious enough that they should have killed even them were traces of black stitches just like their sister's, expect they reached all the way around their pale necks. They looked like tattoos, like a ghastly reminder, and they were definitely that. No one forgot watching the three of them survive something that no other creatures on the planet could have, and the gift was given only to a very select few. But not a single soul knew how they had done it, nor would anyone ever. They became gods to their people after that, and no one threatened their rule. No one could. Only small groups of resistance remained, pocketed away and dying in holes.

Their lives were full of enlightenment and discovery, and they reveled in every moment of it, for the boundless pleasure to be had never seemed to have an end. The Court was filled with courtesans of every flavor and sex, humans and nymphs and dryads, pretty little things every one of them (whether by nature or by magic), and the most beautiful and exotic were kept solely for the nobles and the Royals. They adored their work, and they adored their payment, for all loved the black touch of the Sovereigns and the Molidon, and the games never stopped, ranging every hour of the day in different parts of the palaces and shops and homes in all Seven Cities and in the smaller towns.

Nothing was forbidden, nothing but treachery, but everyone was much too busy living it up and enjoying themselves to have anything to complain about in the first place. The people wanted for nothing, and everyone had adapted to their new world quickly, even most of the slaves. And the twins knew that within a blink of the time that would make up their lives, which would last for…well, _forever_ if they wished it, the slaves would have lived so long that way that they wouldn't know anything else, like the house elves. Wine and drugs of all kinds flowed freely from hand to hand, from mouth to mouth, from vein to vein, and the darkness was the most favored drug of all.

Mix that darkness with a little neon orange spice, and you'd be up for days seeing the world in vivid shades of color, of flesh and blood, until every moan and scream was undiluted ecstasy and you didn't know whose lips those were grinding into yours, whose hips those were writhing into yours, and you didn't care. There was hardly a monogamous person left in the Kingdom, because most had long ago realized how much sense the Slytherins' view on it was. Fucking didn't, in any way, equal love. It was just simple fact that you could shag the shit out of someone and not give a damn about them as a person. It was also simple fact that shagging friends was even easier.

When you already cared for them, and when those you loved cared for them too, it made jealously almost non-existent. Many had thought the opposite at first, but it was truer the darker one became, and the affairs of the flesh were separate from those of the heart most of the time. So did it matter if it was Pansy underneath them instead of Padma? If it was Anton instead of Parvati? No. Because when they finally lay down to sleep, it was their wives curled around them sated and spent, and it always would be. Life was good, and it would continue to be so for ages to come. They could feel it in the air, in the land underneath their feet that throbbed with dark vitality once more.

A new age had come to Terra, a dark, fertile age. All hail the High Royals.

_End Flashback_

And gods, the earth was beautiful now. If they'd had to wait on natural re-growth, it would have taken centuries upon centuries to get it in its current condition. But they didn't, and Nature thrived, majestic and supreme. And it was ancient growth, not any of the newer, weaker, hybrid strands that had been caused by deforestation and pollution and the loss of magic coating the land for so long. But it coated it once again, and Nature woke for the first time in memory, responding and heeding their cajoling calls. _Wait, what was that? _They looked over at their sister, and nearly died from wanting to laugh hysterically when they heard that Sirius was finally being allowed in to play.

And Remus with him.

_Begin Flashback:_

Another year had passed before the twins ran into Remus one night a day before the full moon, sitting outside the palace in Mactabilis, the sixth Great City on the floor of the Atlantic. The moonlight didn't really reach him there, not that that stopped the change. But it was still a few hours from nightfall on the surface, and he was quite edgy, shredding grass into small wisps absently. He wasn't sick with a fever though, not since Severus had made a breakthrough with the Wolfsbane potion, one better than any hoped for. The transformations were fully controllable now, and it only took three months of taking the potion on the full moon to make that control permanent.

Sirius had been away for something or another, which he tried not to do on full moons, since they were the only time that Remus _had_ to change. He could do so at will anytime of the month thanks to Severus's brilliance, and there were other side effects too, ones that would have been curses had they come into play years ago. Because werewolves with that potion in their blood had eyes that stayed amber and claws that could spring from their fingers like a shapeshifter's when they were annoyed or angry. It would have marked them as too obviously alien, too animal, had the Ministry and their stupid laws still been in power.

As it was, werewolves were as integral a part of their society as any of the other semi-human creatures were, and he could walk freely, with those wolfish eyes flashing, anywhere that he liked. Besides, he was the beloved of Sirius, and therefore held a high enough place within the Court. But they had never really talked to him before, and they couldn't help but notice how much better and younger he looked than he had the year that he'd taught them at Hogwarts. Sirius's magic had done that, since he was one of the few immortals and Remus had been bound to him months before. The only thing that belied his age was his almost-white hair.

They asked about his life that night, the waves casting shifting shadows over them, and he told them, either because he wanted to or felt obligated to or just didn't care one way or the other.

"I used to hate it, every second of it." He said, watching a school of fish dart by outside the wards above them. "I'd always known that werewolves were evil creatures, and I became one. I'd been taught to hate them, so I hated myself even more. I believed that the darkness in me was horrible, and I wished so much to be of the Light…until I met Sirius. People whispered about him even as they fawned over him, because of his name and such. It didn't matter that he'd been put in Gryffindor, because the Black blood outweighed that, and the purebloods…Well, we could all see it in him, just as they could see it in me."

The twins nodded, because they knew what he spoke of as well or better than any.

"James couldn't, though, and we never knew why. He was as pure as the rest of us, but he never glimpsed what so many others did, even Peter. Sort of like your family; pure but blind. But Sirius made me see that being dark wasn't so bad, that there was nothing wrong with what I was, and with him beside me, I was strong." Something crossed through those gold-tinted eyes, like a spot of passing shade, had there been any sunlight. "But then when Peter chickened out and ran away to confess everything to Dumbledore, when Sirius went after him and killed all of those people to stop him, I was weak, because he was taken from me."

There was no embarrassment in his voice, because he was just stating facts.

"I felt dirty again, impure again, and the following years were hell in the worst of ways. I had no pride without him, and I sunk lower than I'd ever dreamed in order to satisfy the wolf's…_hungers_." He said 'hungers' as if the word should have been capitalized, emphasized, and lit up with neon light. Their curiosity grew.

"What hungers?" They asked, and those eyes turned to them, full of something that intrigued them greatly.

"Flesh _hunger_, blood _hunger_, mating _hunger_, they're all separate and the same. They all demand to be satiated, and you have no will against them, you _want_ no will against them. In that way, in the way of the _hungers_, we are akin to the vampires and a few other select beings. Because the _hungers_ are primal and fierce, and if you _do_ fight them, they will humble you until you find yourself in the streets with nothing more than a knife and the clothes that you're wearing, whoring yourself out to any who will fill that driving _need_. But now…now I do not hate it. Sirius has been returned to me, bound to me, and I control the wolf, though the _hungers_ remain as strong as ever."

He stopped, blinked twice, and smiled a soft, feral smile. Oh yes, Remus had definitely embraced that evil wolf within.

"It is a good life, now. We are ruled wisely and my kind treated equally. We are free."

The twins, thoughts racing through their heads, knew only one thing. They wanted to know what it was like.

"Make us like you." They said, and Remus almost recoiled.

"Pardon?" He asked, watching them cautiously and somewhat nervously, as if he didn't think that they were serious, yet feared that they were.

"Bite us, turn us, but it make it feel good." They told him, and he shook his head, even as those animal eyes betrayed him. Oh, he wanted to, no matter how much he wished to say that he didn't. And the only reason he gave pause was because of who they were. Should they regret it later, it could go badly for him. Very badly. But they wouldn't, they just knew it. "That's an order, Remus."

And that set him loose, since he technically no longer had a choice in the matter, and he _did_ bite them, _did_ turn them, _did_ make it feel agonizing and exquisite. They were jaguars in their Animagus forms, but feeling the wolf within them was something else entirely. _Hungers_, indeed. Severus was quite annoyed with them when they went to see him later for the potion and nearly ravished him up against his large, brass cauldron. Shadow's timely arrival was the only thing that saved him, and they still weren't sure if that was good or bad. Bad, because he'd escaped while the wolf was hungry, or fucking excellent, since Shadow was there, even though he was laughing at them.

But he stopped laughing when their new _hungers_ overrode them and their full attention turned to him. He smelt of Ice and Fire and something dark and cold and somewhat dead, but _hungers_ of his own rose underneath their hands, drawn out of him in a way that they'd never been able to coax them before, having lacked their own. And he knew how to deal with fledgling werewolves, because they were like vampires in a way, and he knew all about both species. So he let them feed from him because he loved them as they loved him, because they were _family_, and his skin was heaven given substance, his blood a dark fount of divinity that humbled them more than _any_ hunger, even those.

They learned that night that when Shadow screamed in unrestrained ecstasy, you came right then and there, and kept coming as long as he kept screaming. They'd played bed games with Ice and Shadow before, but never in such a way, because they hadn't been able to without their own ravenous cravings. They were thoughtless during and mindless afterwards, so lethargic and gorged that they barely noticed Ice and Fire standing in the doorway smirking, drawn by their Bonded's release. There was something knowing in those smirks, something that said, '_You got a taste of the true him, did you? And yet you still do not know the half of it._'

But the twins were content, content with _everything_, and the full moons were a wonder each and every time. Every day was a wonder as they grew ever stronger in their magic, and as they watched their sister and her Bonded become ever darker and closer to being honestly psychotic. But it just seemed to make everyone love them more, respect them more, worship them more, because they were glorious in their growing madness, somehow more _real_ than anyone else because of it. It complemented them like black complemented silver, and it made them stronger, deadlier, more ruthless, more loving.

They were everyone's everything; their word and will were law and scripture.

_End Flashback_

The door opened as Fire and Sirius bickered playfully, and the twins grinned as two more cloaked figures entered, their scents familiar and full of anticipation. They had been waiting a long time for the eradication of Harry Potter; they had been waiting a long time to witness his rack and ruin. Faces lost in deep hoods scanned the room, and upon seeing the twins' smirks, they came toward them and fell gracefully into huge, heavy chairs that were thickly cushioned. Each pulled a flame-haired twin down onto their laps while Padma and Parvati laughed quietly, shaking their heads as they continued brewing Wolfsbane for the new pups that would soon need it. Fred sank back against Lucius as George melded into Jeran, and they watched, recollecting.

_Begin Flashback:_

Five years after the war's end, the twins were back at the the Ice City in the Royal Chambers, lying around with their sister and the King, as well as the other Dark Knights, but for Pansy and Anton. Those two were with Shadow in Egypt, which now spanned across most of the African continent, looking for the last of the rebels. The last word they'd had on their whereabouts had come from Mist, the third of the Seven Cities, which had been built around the Great Pyramids. They had left the morning before with a group of Scouts, and they were expected back before sunset. A knock sounded at the door, followed shortly by the arrival of the Queen Mother.

"Good day, Lady Narcissa." Most managed to greet her somewhat cordially, considering that most were wasted and too busy with…other things, and she nodded shortly.

"How do they fair?" She inquired without any preamble, and Ice scoffed.

"You worry too much."

"Perhaps. But Silana's niece is one of those Scouts, and she worries for her when they go on these slave hunts."

"But not for her son?" Ice asked silkily, and Fire lifted her eyes for the first time from her examination of the smooth skin of Ice's thigh that was visible through slashed leather pants and the splits down the sides of his robes, a glimmer of interest showing in those dark depths. That was a dangerous question coming from those lips, and giving any kind of answer would be walking a perilous road, but Narcissa usually used that flowing grace that she was infamous for to glide around the cracks at her feet until she was on solid ground once more. Too bad she didn't that time.

"You know she worries for Shadow. But he is more than capable of taking care of himself, as you made sure to let us know." There was a hint of accusation in that tone, a hint that had Ice sneering and Fire snarling.

"Don't tell me you're still caught up on that." He said slowly, so slowly, that reckless, mad light beginning its familiar dance within his enticing eyes. "It was three years ago, Mother."

"You fucking beheaded each other, Draco!" Narcissa snapped, then immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, her forever-youthful face a mask of shame, while Fire's snarl turned into a growl at her Bonded's true name falling from any lips but hers or Shadow's. "Forgive me." Narcissa said before Fire could reprimand her, but the Queen's eyes stayed on her warningly. "I meant no offense. But it was quite horrid seeing it, like being stabbed in the heart—" She stopped abruptly as bloody holes appeared in the King and Queen's chests, her mask cracking and her eyes becoming huge while everyone else jumped up at once.

"What have you done!?" Bellatrix demanded, glaring at her sister accusingly as she went to her nephew's side, and Narcissa joined her, shaking her head and trying to speak without success.

"Not her." The twins said, watching their Sovereigns' eyes, which flashed the darkest of blues before turning utterly black as the wounds in their chests began healing.

"Blaise." Ice and Fire intoned as one, rising in movements too liquid quick for anyone else to follow. "Stay here."

Then they were gone, the first tendrils of their rage left wavering in the air, and the Dark Knights were furious at the command. They just received metaphysical heart injuries, obviously since Shadow had received the real thing, and they had left the best of their guard behind? What, exactly, was their purpose if not to protect the Sovereigns and the Molidon? Pacing the set of rooms liked caged tigers, they waited for what felt like a small eternity. Then, returning as quickly as they'd vanished, Ice and Fire stood before them again, angry energy rolling off of them so thickly that the others in the room fell to their knees instinctively.

"Rise." Ice hissed, and they did as they were bid. Fire's eyes found the twins, and she came to them, falling into their ready embraces.

"He shot Blaise; he shot him in the heart." She was murmuring, whether more to them or herself, they didn't know, nor did it matter. But they soon realized why she'd come to them this time instead of turning to Ice. "Ron fucking shot him, and I swear, I fucking swear that I'll eat his little mudblood's heart right in front of him for this."

"Shall we bring them to you?" They asked, their own fury doubling at the thought of their brother lifting so much as a finger against Shadow. Fire looked up at that, pulling away from them slightly, and there was something young in her eyes then, as if they were back in that clearing near where the Burrow used to be, alone in a night of stars and whispered secrets.

"No, beloveds, for we have already captured them and the other rebels. But your concern and loyalty is highly appreciated." She kissed them both then, her lips like hot coals, and the years melted away before swarming back again when the two Dark Knights missing from their number passed through the wards and appeared in the bedroom.

"Shadow has found Harry Potter."

_End Flashback_

"Shadow looks amused." Lucius whispered against Fred's skin, and he nodded slowly, pressing harder against the lean, hard, freezing-cold body behind him, offering warmth that the other didn't have on his own. Fingers so white they were almost light blue, just like his son's, danced up Fred's throat to wrap in his hair, and the twin's breathing hitched slightly.

"He is, and so are the others. Many have longed for the deaths of those held captive in this room."

"The last heroes of the Light, indeed." Lucius scoffed, one arm wrapped around Fred's waist, the hand of which was trailing sharp nails over his stomach through the cloth of his robes, while the other was still tangled tightly in his hair. Lucius played games, too; but tonight they were of a different kind then the ones making Seamus Finnegan scream as his skin boiled and sloughed off as if he were being cooked alive. Slowly.

No, tonight Lucius wished to play a different game. Both were about dominance and submission, but Fire's was all about pain and agony while Lucius's was of a more carnal variety. Fred knew it by the added tightness of the hold on his hair, by the tautness of the muscles in the chilled body molded against him, by the scent on Lucius's skin. And when he heard the first tiny rips in the velvet covering his body, those icy nails biting into his flesh, Fred decided that he would play, too. Lucius was in a mood about something, and whether he'd been fighting with Narcissa or was just excited over the spectacle being made of Harry, it didn't matter.

Because tension of any kind in the Court was undesirable. Therefore, the Dark Knights and the Royals…looked after each other, and they did whatever they could to help. If someone had angered them, then they found them and killed them. If someone had annoyed them, then they'd fuck it all better. If they were just salacious, then they did the same. Simple. And it did wonders at keeping everyone calm and languid. And when you had a Court full of dark witches and wizards and there were no wars to be fought, you _definitely_ wanted to keep everyone calm. Because it wouldn't be any fun at all to have to go from city to city everyday policing internal squabbles.

And sure, the lesser nobles and members of the Court dueled all the time for higher positions, for a chance to prove themselves to the upper crust of their society, just as the slaves dueled in the arena to keep the nobles entertained and to try and win a month or two of controlled freedom. It was a huge risk for a slave to step onto that field of sand in the center of the coliseum, because if they lost, it was not freedom they gained, but a few months in the Menagerie, or the 'feeding pool' as they murmured amongst themselves. Few survived their time there whole and sane. But now Lucius was tense, so tense, and they were both Royal, so it was all right to play.

And if there was any unspoken rule about who one could fuck and who one could not, it was to never sleep below your station. The Royals and the Dark Knights were classed together, along with their Bonded; the first and second circles were classed together, with theirs as well, and so forth. The only exceptions were when they had group entertainments with the slaves, or if it was one of the Royal courtesans. But if you chose pick a lifemate, then your options opened up quite a bit more, extending to any that were of unmixed blood, no matter their station. The High Royals had said that love would be the one thing they wouldn't hinder in any way as long as it stayed pure.

But you'd better be damn sure that they were the one you would be saying those soul vows to, because if you bred with a lower class subject and didn't marry, then you were in deep shit. For instance, say Marcello got Pansy pregnant. Everything would be peachy and the people would rejoice another addition to the High Court. But if he got some servant or village girl pregnant and didn't wed them, he would be seeing the nasty side of the Molidon's temper, since it was Shadow who upheld that particular decree. And if you were already bound to someone, then to sleep outside of your station at all was forbidden, because it was insulting to the one you'd tied yourself to.

Like if Sirius got Melody pregnant, it would be fine, because neither Remus nor Lee would care due to who the other parent was. But if Sirius got some little nameless fuck from the fourth circle pregnant, Remus, in shame, would stay away for five hundred days and five hundred nights, before he formally decided whether or not to stay with his Bonded. Meanwhile, the girl's name would be ruined, since one couldn't sleep with someone like Sirius and not know who it was and who they were sworn to. Blood was everything, bowing only to love even in the High Royals' minds, and if it wasn't a child of pure love, then it had better be a child of one of the strongest bloodlines available to you.

"I do not think that they are heroes." Fred purred, tilting his head back as cold lips and teeth nipped at the warm flesh of his neck while fingers brushed over his erection. "All they have been since the war's end are walking corpses that were lucky enough, or _un_lucky enough, to still be breathing at all. They are nothing."

"It is still so refreshing to hear such things from the sweet lips of a Weasley once more." Lucius commented idly, his eyes on Dean Thomas as he was carefully dissected, each piece removed with gentle fingers and held up for inspection before being placed in sealed potion jars, even as his hands were all for Fred, one still holding him in place and the other wrapping around his length through the heavy velvet.

"Ah, but I am not a Weasley, remember?" Fred teased, making a small noise in the back of his throat that he knew would drive Lucius half-mad as the fingers in his hair tightened even farther, delicious, stinging pain spreading over his scalp and crawling down the back of his neck. Grinding back against the other as the slender, elegant fingers around him gripped hard enough to throw in a little pain with the pleasure, a throaty moan had him glancing over at his twin. Apparently, Jeran had been in a mood as well.

"Forgive me." Lucius crooned, a wet tongue darting out to soothe a fresh bite mark on Fred's creamy skin. "As a brother of the Queen, you are most certainly not a Weasley any longer. Zabini suits you better, anyway."

"And what would suit you this night? For you are restless when you are usually listless. Has something upset you?" His question, which was their way of asking who needed to pay for it, was followed by a degenerate moan of his own, and his fingers dug into Lucius's thighs hard enough to bruise that pale, pale skin.

"So debauched, so beautiful." Lucius breathed, staring down the lithe line of Fred's writhing body. "But no one, not even you, dear Prince, can save me from Jeran's stubbornness. It shall be something I must live with for all time. And since I cannot kill him, and fucking doesn't seem to shut him up for long, I've become a little…frustrated."

"So you decided to come watch the death of the Boy Wonder's soul while dry-fucking me in front of him?" Every few words were followed by a low, heated whimper and a grinding of hips, because Fred knew exactly how to get Lucius off. And he didn't mind playing the whore for him now, because their roles would be reversed later, and then flipped back again, and again, and again…As long as you were equals, or damn close to it, anything was game without any kind of shame. It was all just flesh and ecstasy.

The story of their lives.

That thought brought a wicked smile to his lips before his teeth were digging into them again as Lucius suddenly bit him for real, and it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad, and he loved every second of it. Blood stained pale lips when Lucius pulled back and kissed him, smearing and shockingly bright against their pearly-white skin, and he was coming when Fire, growing bored, gave the Golden Hero a chance to win the lives of his three remaining friends. Elated and laughing quietly, Fred met his twin's eyes, and they shared a knowing look. '_A chance to win their lives_', indeed. She was up to something; something cruel and malignant and merciless.

Fire played deadly, deadly games.

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Hehehehe…Hope you guys liked it, and if you love me at all, **REVIEW** or I shall die. And if I die, there's no next chapter. So there. lol


	3. Rising Queen

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's mine, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

**Responses to my Beloved Reviewers: tkmoore**, you, my dear, remain the almighty review goddess!** Mystick**, yeah, you're just lucky you reviewed! I know where you live! (smirks) **morphed**, well, there's more of the 'time together' as you requested in this, lol! **Virginia Riddle-Malfoy**, why don't you like Padma? Just curious, lol. **Incessant Darkness**, thanks, and I dunno, I just get into a flow and it all comes out. :) **Lady Eros**, thank you! **madmissymel**, thanks, an yes, I'm going to finish! **VidelKM**, thanks! **aoi-yuki-yume**, thank you, and I thought yours would, for you are brilliant and adored, lol. **NeoAddctee**, hey, she reminds me of me, too. and THANKS!!!! **me**, thanks, and have patience! **GoldHeartSilverTears**, thank you so much! **Golden Rose Storm**, well, this wasn't instantaneous, but I hope it will do! **Icy Lullaby**, thanks, and I'm glad you liked the F/L thing, it was an idea I'd been playing with for a while, lol. **Psi**, thanks a million, as usual! **bigreader**, eat away, and I'm glad to be food anytime, lol. **Uniquely-Defined**, THANK YOU!! **Artemisgodess**, thanks, and I hope you like this one! **CrackingUp**, ahhh! here's more, please play nice! lol **sillysun**, I just adore you to pieces! (sighs happily and re-reads review) Yep, to pieces!!!! **Sunday-Morning**, hello beautiful! That…was…an…awesome…review! I love you! And update, update, update! (grins cheekily)

**Extended Summary** (because this website hates me and wouldn't show it all): Every DxG shipper knows about Fire and Ice, right? Wrong. You only thought you knew before, but that was just a glimpse, a glamour. These are the hidden chronicles, the black scrolls. Three shall tell this tale, and heed their words, for the Hero, the Knights and the Queen do not lie. 'Tis a story of darkness.

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Floating on her back amid all of the black petals strewn over the water's surface, Virginia gazed up through the open ceiling at thick, white clouds and a star-studded sky. She was in a large room that tiered up in rising levels to almost three hundred feet above her head, enormous pillars encircling the room at its borders, and shadowed figures could be seen spread out on those landings, the Dark Knights ghosting around her as usual. It was a holy room, the shrine of the Divine Pool, and because of its importance, it was one of the few rooms that was made completely of diamond spelled up from deep underneath Terra's surface.

And while others could observe it from above, none but the Royalist of Royal flesh could touch the water, or even so much as the surface of the floor, without it eating their soul. Which basically meant that only five could experience the dark enlightenment that the water gave, the strength and power and black glory. Twenty years ago, when their rule over Terra was still relatively new, that number was only three. But that was then, so long ago and yet not long at all to her growing immortal perception. An ebony rose petal tickled her cheek, and she sighed contentedly. Let the Dark Gods rule her thoughts, her memories. It was part of what the Pool did, after all.

_Begin Flashback:_

It all began with her dreams, she supposed, because her earliest memory was of waking from one and running to the twins, black and silver dancing in her head like mad. She knew that no one else in her family would understand even at so young an age, and always, _they_ had been the ones she ran to, because she also knew that they were different, too. They were special, dark like she was, and they could feel the night whispering, even though they couldn't understand it like she did. So the night told her to tell them for it, and she did, letting go under that cover of darkness and saying so many things, things that she couldn't have told anyone else that she knew.

But the dreams stayed with her all of her early years, and she would jump out of her bed once she awoke, her heart quaking with fear and something else, something she was much too young to understand, and she would run to her darling brothers, crawling up between them, seeking comfort and affection and the feeling of their hearts pulsing underneath their skin on either side of her. They never pressed her about what she saw behind her closed eyelids during repose, never even asked until she was seven and tired of life already, the only interesting points being magic and the twins. The rest of her family stifled her, over-protected her, and she felt trapped, confined.

The night was her only escape, and the creatures in the woods around the house never bothered her, because she carried the night itself like a cloak around her. None of its creatures would harm her without its blessing, and that was one thing that it would never give, not even if she demanded it. And sometimes, she felt like demanding it. Sometimes, she wanted to die, because it seemed more interesting than the cramped, dusty house that they lived in, the house that reeked of Light and made her feel like someone was constantly poking her right between the eyes, trying to _annoyaggravateinfuriate_ her until she snapped and forgot propriety entirely.

She hated her mother before she was five, hated her as she would hate few people, because one day, after some family friends had been over and Virginia had calmly walked up to them, asking if the wizard planned to tell his wife that he'd been sleeping with that saucy little witch in the next flat over, her mother had come completely undone for one of the few, rare times in her life. After the couple left, the woman not speaking a word to her pleading husband, Molly grabbed her up and shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth, telling her what a bad, strange little girl she was, and that 'strange' just wouldn't _do_ for their family.

Calling her a liar and asking how she could be telling the truth when she didn't even know what 'saucy' meant or what a 'flat' was, Molly demanded to know why she would make up such a horrid story, such a horrid fib. Virginia told her that she'd just _known_ the moment she'd seen him, that the night had whispered it to her even though it was mid-day, because the night lived inside her. And since it was just another magical wonder to her, she didn't think anything of sharing her thoughts, telling her tale. But Molly paled, turning so sickly white that Virginia was ready to yell for the twins until the sharp slap stung hotly against her cheek.

Astounded, because she'd never even considered the woman hurting her in such a way, her control slipped and the night filled her, its rage numb and thoughtless. She gained introspection from it then, gained suspicion and caution and hate, dark, broiling hate, and as her mother screeched for her to never speak of such a thing again, to never even _think_ of such a thing again, she felt her heart grow cold. Later that day, the night having healed what would have been a bruised cheek, she saw Bill and Charlie and Percy and Ron and her father, and she felt nothing beyond detached blood ties. Not until the twins walked in, laughing, their eyes immediately seeking her out.

Some part of her wished to weep from joy at the fact that she could still feel, because even as a child, she'd known the importance of feeling. And somehow, she got the impression that she wasn't a 'normal' child to begin with. But the twins weren't normal either, and they loved her anyway. _They_ believed her when she told them of the night's murmurings; _they_ believed her when they would sit on the stairs and watch their parents' friends trickle in, her pointing people out and telling them all of their dirty little secrets. But as soon as she turned to her eldest brother again, it was gone, and she was blank and still once more.

It was like that for years; seven to be exact. Even meeting Harry when she was ten hadn't _really_ touched her, not like she knew it had seemed to everyone. She'd been embarrassed, true; but not for the reasons they had assumed. She'd been embarrassed, mortified, because she _had_ had a crush on him, because she _had_ thought that he was more than he ended up being. She'd heard so much about him before, but because of her stupid family, she hadn't known that he wasn't pure because they'd never mentioned it. The twins hadn't been able to disillusion her for the same reason, and only they had known that the _real_ reason she blushed and stammered was horror.

Because they'd all three known immediately, the first time that they'd ever seen him, that he _wasn't_ pure. And in that instant, her crush had changed from 'forever and ever, happily ever after', to 'oh, how bloody disappointing', because she'd always, _always_ known that to mix her blood was to lessen it, and her very core screamed against such a thing. The thought that she'd been fantasizing about babies with a halfblood had sickened her on an instinctual level, and she'd tried, over the next year, to rid herself of those memories. But then, after long letters and talks with the twins being the only things keeping her sane, she'd finally gotten to escape.

It was time to go to Hogwarts.

Too excited to stay quiet, she nagged her father to take her and the twins to Diagon Alley early that summer, right after they'd gotten home, to celebrate their return. He, to their displeasure, invited Ron along, and they all set out, her mother looking on disapprovingly. It was only the ninth or tenth time that she'd ever been away from the Burrow and the land surrounding it, and she desperately wanted a chance to sneak into Knockturn Alley with the twins again. They didn't have enough time, though, and on their way to meet up with their father and Ron at an ice cream shop, they shot the Alley yearning glances.

Then she saw them and her world flipped upside down.

There were two young boys, her age, standing freely where she so wanted to be, the shade cast by the afternoon sun trailing over them like an affectionate caress. The night within her began howling with primal longing that ate at her, demanded that she move forward, that she clutch at destiny's very throat and shake it into submission, and she whimpered from the intensity of it all, her heart picking up pace as that familiar trickle of fear washed through her. The boys' _hair_, gods, their hair screamed out to her, the colors even more vibrant than in her dreams, like the thick paint on an palette before a brush is running through it and spreading it on the canvas.

But no mere paint, muggle or mage alike, could match those colors, could perfect those startling shades. No paint on the planet could capture the dark, shifting glow of the sapphire-bright strands running through all of that ebony, and not even substituting paint for pure liquid mercury could do the other's justice. She saw two images as she soaked in everything about them that she could, one more solid than the other, as if there was a _them_, and then a _ghost_ them hovering right outside of their skin. The 'real' ones were the ones that she was utterly taken by, that glorious hair falling past their shoulders, the dangerous darkness in their eyes highlighting that spot of fear.

The misty images, the ones wavering around them like skin that didn't fit quite right, had shorter hair, the black sheared off enough to curl slightly, and the silver slicked back without a strand out of place to flutter in the breeze. And those eyes…_those_ eyes reminded her of her own when she glanced in the mirror and she was around other people, that natural, fake expression of childish ignorance, and it seemed so much more wrong on them, since she could see the brilliant, dark knowledge shining out from their _true_ eyes. Her head started swimming and she thought that she might pass out, her knees weak and her breathing erratic.

And the night still howled and howled.

"Ginny?" The twins asked, and she could only murmur a reply slowly, so slowly, because she felt as if she were in a dream after all, colors and flashes of pale flesh racing through her mind in a continuous circle, like a wheel turning madly, one that she couldn't stop, didn't want to stop, even as it terrified her.

"Black and silver…blue and mercury."

Everything made so much sense and yet none at all, and it wasn't until the two boys were whispering into each other's hair, pressed together as snugly as puzzle pieces, that inconceivably blue eyes lifted and met hers, and those lips froze. A second later, silver followed their path, and she was like the deer that she came across at night, the limber, graceful creatures that would stop everything so completely when they saw her, as if they knew, somehow, that they were prey to the darkness inside her. And she knew, right then and there, that she was prey to those boys' darkness, prey to anything they wanted her to be prey to, as long as it was for them and only them.

The twins drug her away, their eyes wide as they muttered something about being late, their gazes still locked onto the two that she couldn't rip her own away from. She knew who they were, anyone would upon seeing that hair and those eyes, no matter if they saw the true image or the glamour, and she knew, more than she knew anything else, that to one of her bloodline, they were forbidden and had been ever since the Weasleys had split from the dark centuries ago. They would cost her everything if she gave in to them, her name and her family and her life as she knew it, but she didn't care about those things anyway, except for the twins.

Let it all burn and fade. Let a new age arise from the ashes of the old.

_End Flashback_

_Oh, and it did_, she thought dreamily. _We destroyed it all and made it again, made it so much better than before. _Something brushed against her back underneath the water, but she paid it no heed. The bottom of the Pool was a portal to Hell, and it could be any number of things, none of which would harm her. Whatever it was had tentacles, that much was obvious as one wrapped around her waist. Well, around much more than just _that_, actually, considering that it was as thick as a tree truck, the poison of the suckers not fazing her flesh in the least. It squeezed once, gently, then fell slowly away, as if it didn't want to lose the contact but feared to touch her overly long.

Her alabaster skin wasn't even red, not that she had expected it to be, and the water underneath her grew warmer, the great beast curling up just out of touching range, its body heat like red-hot coals, like Tom's eyes…Gods, how she hated that bastard even in death. His betrayal had been like a knife in the back of her soul, and she narrowed her eyes at the stars shining above her, as if they should have to answer for his sweetly-spoken lies. Because she had loved him as one loves an elder brother, as she loved the twins, and she had since she was eleven. He had been like them, he had known the real her, and he had accepted her, praised her, loved her.

And in the end, that had made his deception all the more painful.

_Begin Flashback:_

She was shocked when the diary first responded to her scrawled entry, but curiosity overcame any doubt, and she wrote back eagerly. His name was Tom Riddle, he was sixteen forever, and he knew exactly what she was thinking all the time, because they thought so very much alike. He knew that she loved shadows and dark, winter nights, or any night at all, he knew that she dreamed of things she couldn't fully comprehend; he knew that she followed two certain Slytherins with her eyes everywhere that they went. When they'd first had _that_ discussion, he'd surprised her by saying that he knew them, because they'd written to him, too.

After her fifth round of pleading, he'd told her all he knew from them about Malfoy Manor and the main Zabini estate, Morte Nera. He told her all about the grand balls and the black coven meetings, told her all about Slytherin and depravity. She knew that most adults she knew would be appalled at the things in _her_ head, but that wasn't a strong enough word for what they would be had they read the things Tom spoke to her about. Her fascination with them grew and grew, as did her fear, and Tom said that she was so drawn to them _because_ they were the only people that truly frightened her, _because_ they were the only ones who could add that decadent element.

She didn't really understand him then, but she would later, and it hadn't mattered at the time. She'd been mostly content just watching them and writing to Tom, who became almost as good of a friend to her over the months as her beloved twin brothers, who meant the world and more to her. So she strangled the chickens and prowled the halls, and though she didn't get to kill anyone, she did have quite a bit of fun. Between Tom and the twins, she knew all of the secret passages in the school, and the Chamber became a haven when Lee had a girl over or the twins were at Quidditch practice. And through it all, she watched the boys that she couldn't help gazing at.

That year came and went, and she was quietly devastated when Harry destroyed the diary, when he destroyed one of her very best friends. She was angry, so angry, and she wanted to kill him even as she thanked him, and only the twins and Lee saw through her façade. She'd begun teaching them the Dark Arts when Tom had started teaching her, and Lee was slowly growing on her, her view widening to eventually see him as her third brother, since after that summer of treacherous lies and righteous deceit, she acknowledged no other family, not even her aunts and uncles and cousins, who were right there with the rest in that dark, whisper-filled living room.

She watched hate grow in the twins' eyes those nights that they sat and listened and seethed, and she would curl up between them later and tell them not to worry, that they would all get their revenge one day. They would make them all pay. Her family, Harry, Dumbledore…They would all pay. It was a mantra that she chanted to herself at night, and it kept her going for another three years of stupid school and faked crushes, of constantly pretending to be someone and something that she wasn't. But she was reminded, every time that she sought out the heirs to the families most despised by her own with her eyes, that she was not alone in pretending.

And she wore glamours just as they did, glamours to hide as much of her…_oddity_ from others as possible, and it wasn't hard to fool the halfbloods and mudbloods at all. The purebloods were a different story, though, and sometimes, she would see Angelina or Lavender or Parvati or Neville looking at her strangely. It could have been more of a problem had Ron not been as blind as he had always been, but shit, he barely glanced at her in the first place, much too busy trying to save the world as the sidekick of a halfblood and a mudblood. He sickened her. At least the rest of her family had wizened up after her first year, no matter how far into denial they stayed.

But he stayed fooled and she hid under layers and layers of dark spells, spells that cloaked her true appearance and left that familiar, ghostly illusion floating above her skin. At the time, the only people that she knew could see through it were the twins and Lee, though sometimes, she would see something in Dumbledore's light blue eyes, some knowledge and wariness and fear, as if he knew, already, what she would one day do, what she would one day _be_. But she didn't, she just knew that she grew more bored with school by the day, desperately wanting a change, an escape. And then, one night in the dead darkness of the dungeons, she got both, and so much more.

She was down there because she liked slinking around the school at night, her brothers and Tom having long ago assured that, although she rarely went in the dungeons, because they were said to be heavily guarded and she didn't want to anger the ones that she could never stop thinking of. But she went that night, for no reason that she could ascertain, and it really shouldn't have been such a surprise to her when her back hit the damp, stone wall of one of the passageways hard, when her wand was snatched out of her hand and her head slammed into the wall. Regaining herself quickly, she lashed out with a closed fist and a furious kick.

Her knuckles contacted bone, her foot the tender back of a knee, but a muffled exclamation was all she heard from her attacker before they fell, and another set of hands latched onto her. She spun, trying to shake them off, rage eating at her. Who _dared_ accost her in such a way? The night roared within her and her teeth sank into flesh as she jabbed her elbow into their ribs, a stifled curse her reward that time. Then the other hands were back, a fist smashed into her face, a wand lit up, and she was staring at Pansy Parkinson, who looked quite enraged. Well, she was enraged, too, and she could play games as well as any.

Slamming her foot into whoever's was behind her, their grip lessened only for a second, but it was enough for her to wrench one arm away with strength that she didn't usually show, and her clenched hand connected with Pansy's face again, knocking the girl back and into the other wall. But Pansy recovered quicker than she should have, a telltale flicker of black in her cognac eyes, and she was back on her in a second. Whoever was behind her had a grip like steel, but she was beloved of the night, and it filled her with strength she shouldn't have possessed. Slamming her elbow into their face that time, she ripped Pansy off of her and barely felt any pain.

She should have, though, because the other girl's nails had done a number on her face, small flaps of skin going unnoticed due to the blood that was oozing quickly from the deep (for fingernails) wounds. Then a hand was in her hair, yanking her back into a solid body, and her infuriated eyes lifted to see Anton McGregor's expressionless face, one side of which was swelling as he watched Pansy rise. The other girl briefly cradled one of her wrists, which looked broken, gazing at the snapped limb in momentary disbelief before her own enraged eyes were meeting Virginia's, a knife sliding out of her pocket and into her good hand.

"Enough."

Someone spoke from behind her, in a voice that expected to be listened to, and Pansy froze instantly, her blade already cocked back and ready to throw. But Virginia didn't freeze, because she had known, looking into the girl's eyes, that she would kill her, right there in the bowels of Hogwarts, and she wouldn't think twice, because she'd killed before and she had the resources to cover up any…_mishaps_. So Anton, who had also gone stiff at that command, his grip loosening, wasn't prepared for her attack that time. She moved in a blur, whipping around and decking him hard in the jaw, putting her weight behind it like her brothers had taught her.

"I said _enough_."

There was that voice again, and between one second and the next, she'd been slammed into another wall, strands of her hair ripping out in Anton's fingers as he fell into someone's arms, and there was another hand there, tighter than his had been. Her skull cracked against the stone a lot harder than last time, stars flashing in front of her eyes, and to her confusion and growing fright, the night suddenly went silent and docile inside of her. When her vision cleared again, she saw why. It was Draco that had her pinned to the rough wall, his eyes flashing dangerously, and a coil of desire unwound within her along with the familiar fear.

She knew not what to say, did not even know if she could speak, because she'd never been so close to him before, and he smelt _divine_. She wanted to crawl inside him, wanted to get underneath his skin, and she knew that she was mad for even considering it. But gods, could he _be_ more perfect? There were no ghostly images to distract the eye now, it was just _him_, and she wanted, wanted, wanted. She wanted everything, _anything_, that he would be willing to give her, to share with her, and she had learned long ago that she would do anything to get what she wanted. And damned if he didn't see it all when mercury met gray and a small moan escaped her.

A platinum eyebrow rose in the largest show of true astonishment that she had ever seen from him, before his hand tightened ever farther, a sneer twisting his lips. And she found it utterly endearing, not to mention fucking _hot_, biting her bottom lip in an effort not to forget all pride right then and there and beg. She wasn't _that_ lost yet, thank the gods, at least not until the final piece clicked into place and she was falling, falling fast and hard into something dark and endless, something that possessed and consumed her, and all it took was midnight blue eyes and a shock of onyx hair appearing over Draco's shoulder, regarding her curiously in a detached, lazy way.

Everything became startlingly clear.

She was theirs, from that moment on, to do with as they wished. But she would be damned if she didn't make them hers as well. She had heard rumors and gossip about these two, and they were said to have hearts of black ice, their interest in others being only skin-deep. But as she looked at them, really looked at them, she wondered if that peculiar glint in their eyes was there because they _knew_ what lurked beneath her skin as only a few others did, because they _knew_ that she was different, different like they were different. Calling on every bit of arrogance that she held within her (which was actually quite a lot), she started a new game.

"Fancy meeting you here." She said softly, letting the words twist and curve over her tongue as her lips rose in a half-smirk, half-grin. Her voice was breathy, the pain at her scalp doing things to her that she hadn't known pain could do, and Blaise tilted his head to the side in a graceful, predatory movement while Draco's grip tightened again and nearly lifted her toes off of the floor. She couldn't stop a full-on moan that time, and they exchanged short glances before their attention came back to her.

"Indeed." Draco drawled, his gaze traveling over her face slowly, carefully, and she wanted to tell him not to be careful, that he didn't have to be careful with her, but Blaise spoke, and her eyes shot to him like bees to honey.

"You smell like lust." He said, those indigo eyes all that she could see as he leaned closer, and she wanted to say, '_Yes, I probably do. I wonder why_ that _could be,_' but she couldn't seem to form any words at all when Draco moved toward her too, and since the space between them had been almost nonexistent to begin with, that pressed their bodies together most delightfully. And distractingly.

"You smell like you want to fuck." That from Draco, cold breath brushing over her neck and ear through the strands of her hair that weren't pulled taut in his fist, and she had to tell herself repeatedly that fainting would most definitely ruin the haughty, coy attitude that she was projecting.

"Do I?" She managed to question, internally crowing with victory when her voice came out even and husky.

"Yes." He hissed, his free hand, which had been on the wall caging her in, dropping to her hip and grasping it hard enough to bruise as he pulled her even closer against him.

Her legs rose of their own accord to wrap around his waist, her open robe sliding down her thighs with the movement, and she briefly wondered what someone would say if they happened upon them right then. But that was unlikely considering where they were, and the only other people in the hall were Blaise, who watched them with hooded eyes, and Pansy and Anton, who were standing behind them with their backs turned to them, their eyes facing outwards and scanning the darkness to either side. Draco growled and ground against her, growing hard when she did anything but refuse, a gasped groan trickling from between her parted lips.

Then the world spun and she was bereft of that pressing closeness for a split second, before he was behind her, his back to the wall and his hands underneath her thighs, holding her legs up as they had been. Then Blaise was between them, his lips on hers, and she was so stunned and thrilled and drowning in desire that all she could do was kiss him back as hungrily and demandingly as he was kissing her, squirming against Draco as she did so, so lost in the wild sensations careening through her that the castle could have fallen down around their heads and she wouldn't have minded the least little bit. She just wanted _more_.

Then they flipped on her, Blaise behind her and Draco back in front before she had even fully registered the loss of those seductive lips, and her head was swimming so madly at that point that she had no idea which way was up or down, left or right. Her skirt was bunched up at her waist, the velvet of Draco's robes rubbing against the thin material of her panties, and Blaise's hands were smoothing down her sides, her hips, her thighs, while Draco's drugging mouth made her utterly insensible once more. It didn't matter that she barely even knew them, that they were practically strangers since she'd only spoken to them, what? Once, twice?

None of that was even a concern though, because it felt like she'd known them both forever, ever since she'd seen them that day in Knockturn Alley over four years before. And that feeling was magnified then, so she didn't hesitate to let herself sink under the waves of the pleasure they were ravishing her with, didn't hesitate to do whatever they wanted there, then, or in front of a million watching eyes if they wished it so. One of her hands went behind her, clutching Blaise's hip like a lifeline, while the other tangled itself in Draco's hair like his had been in hers earlier, and then a series of things happened at once that would later be but a blur of undiluted ecstasy.

Blaise's hand slipped underneath her thigh, two fingers shoving inside her without any preamble whatsoever, and she was just wet enough that when she screamed, it wasn't all in pain, nor any bad pain at all. It was _delicious_, and she begged for more, her words jumbled against Draco's lips and as muffled as her scream had been. Then those lips left hers as he slid down the front of her, one hand ripping off her soaked panties before his mouth was on her and Blaise was adding another finger, his teeth sinking into the flesh of her throat, and she was screaming again, uncaring of who heard as her world blew apart around her.

She had never known that such sweet, painful pleasure could possibly exist, and it didn't stop then, it didn't stop at _all_, but she didn't have the sentience or the will to examine how they could cause such extended, glorious rapture. Draco's nails raked down her inner thighs, Blaise drew pure blood with sharp teeth, and she shook and screamed and died right there in their embrace, knowing that nothing would ever be the same, no matter what happened. She had no idea how long she rode that blessed, maddening peak, had no idea how many times they brought her, had no idea when her throat had shrieked itself raw or when her vision had failed her.

All she knew was bliss.

_End Flashback_

And that feeling of bliss had never left her again, not even in the most horrible moments of her life, nor would it ever. They had only told her later that Pansy and Anton had been kind enough to cast silencing charms, not that it would have made the least bit of difference. Just thinking of those early days, those first few days of what she coined as 'the beginning of her true life', was enough to bring a smile to her face. A small ripple in the surface of the Pool alerted her to another's presence in the water, though she'd sensed them from the moment they'd entered. Not so much as a splash accompanied them, and she turned her head to gaze upon them.

Her children were beautiful, there was no denying that. They were twins, and both had her ruby-wine hair that curled in tight, spiraling ringlets, only one thing besides gender separating them. Corpus had the midnight blue eyes of Blaise, Cruoris the liquid silver of Draco. Both were lean and strong and eternally eighteen, and they were the pride of the Kingdom. They dove under the water at the far end, and since the Pool itself was huge, it took them a good minute to reach her, though they might have had an encounter with some creature that was just dying to touch them for a moment, and they usually let them as long as they didn't get _too_ grabby.

Neither said anything when they saw the misty quality of her eyes, knowing that the Pool's power had a hold of her and she wouldn't make much sense if she tried to speak just then. So instead, both brushed lips over her pale cheeks before going to the side and up, scaling the pillars like a cat would climb a tree, drops of the sparkling ebony water dripping from robes that they hadn't bothered removing and that didn't hinder them at all. Once they were on the first landing and talking to one of the Dark Knights, Lee from what it looked like, her thoughts drifted again as something with sleek fur brushed against her side, and the stars faded.

_Begin Flashback:_

When she came back to awareness, she was in an empty classroom, lying on a desk transfigured into a divan, her whole body still tingling and vibrating. It was dark but for a single, dim ball of witchlight, and she appeared to be alone. But she wasn't, because she could see the cloaked figure in the corner that most would have missed, but she didn't feel alarm or fear, even though she'd been in a fight with the person not that long before. She knew who it was, the night whispering their name in her ear, and she had to stop herself from giggling. Everything seemed surreal, and she couldn't stop thinking about blood and sex.

"Well, you're up long before anyone else has ever risen after such a…treat." Pansy said, and Virginia could practically _hear_ her smirking.

"Where did they go?" She questioned, not caring if the girl thought her presumptuous for asking, and Pansy lowered her hood, revealing that she was indeed smirking heavily. It also revealed that someone had healed her face, because only faint traces of bruises swept across her sharp cheekbones, looking a week old instead of an hour or two or three. Or four. Oh, who knew? Raising fingers to her own cheek, she found the scratches long healed, not even telltale ridges marking where they had been.

"Where do you think? You just had something very close to sex with them in the middle of a dungeon corridor with two Slytherin witnesses. Forgive them if they thought you might want a bit of time to absorb that. You're not one of us, after all."

"If you're referring to blood, I'm as pure as you. And I seriously doubt that they care about my sensibilities regarding the matter." Virginia returned just as sarcastically, and Pansy's lips twitched, as if she wanted to smile.

"I wasn't referring to your purity, and they don't. Well, they do, in a way perhaps, but they didn't think that you would care. Said you were different. But I took it upon myself to get them to fuck off until tomorrow."

"And why would you do that? You attacked me and now you're helping me?"

"I attacked you because Anton and I were patrolling the corridors, and all we saw was a little witch creeping around. If you hadn't fought back, we would have just scared you and let you go back up. There's no need for a suspicious…_disappearance_ over something so silly."

"I saw you. You would have killed me."

"You hit Anton." She said, as if that explained everything, and Virginia vaguely remembered slamming her elbow into his face, though she hadn't known it was him at the time.

"Oh. Right."

Pansy nodded shortly. "You _do_ know what you've gotten yourself into, don't you?" The question wasn't expected, and Virginia frowned.

"What do you mean?" She asked, and Pansy rolled her eyes.

"I'm not blind, you know. We can all see it in you, and if we can, they can. They'll never let you go now that they know for sure. That is, if you're sure."

Could she have been more confusing? Virginia's mind was still more than slightly scrambled from sensual overload, and Pansy was speaking in riddles. It was by far the longest conversation she'd ever had with the other girl, and she admired the thoughtless pride that she bore, the pride that made her sure enough of herself to understand the differences between them and not be insulted or defensive or angry about their earlier fight. It was a rare quality, because although many people possessed pride, it was a false, wishing pride, a pride that was weaker, more fragile. Pansy's was inborn, as much a part of her as her long, dark hair or her dainty, upturned nose.

"If I'm sure about what? And what are they sure about? I'm too weird right now for word games."

"That's understandable." Pansy replied, a knowing glint in her bronze eyes. "You'll be 'weird' for hours yet. And the rest is for them to tell you if they will. But, because I love them and want to see them content, I will say one thing, because I am sure of you and I am sure of them. I saw you earlier, and it is rare what you shared with them, a…connection of some sort. So know this, and if you ever speak a word of it, I will make you sorry to the best of my ability. I have known them since we were children, we have all known them most of our lives due to our parents' associations with one another, and I know, that for as long as I can remember, they have woken up with three words on their lips."

A chill shot down her spine. "What words?" Pansy's eyes closed for a brief moment, before opening and locking onto her, and Virginia felt the first stirrings of a different sort of connection with the other girl even as she waited with bated breath, not so much as blinking.

"'Vermilion and ash'."

She didn't remember going back to Gryffindor Tower after that, the long walk through the back passages a blank blur in her mind, which was spinning and spinning in so many different directions that she couldn't begin to straighten anything out. And as much as she wished to be with them right then, perhaps Pansy had been right in giving her some time. Not time for acceptance, no, because that was a given, but time to process all that had happened, considering how unbelievable most of it was. She only came back to semi-awareness when she heard the Fat Lady ask for the password in an offended tone, and she realized why the portrait was angry a moment later.

Pansy had come with her, and the Slytherin Prefect badge on her robe was very green and very silver and very, very _not_ Gryffindor. And the Fat Lady had a small problem with despising every Slytherin that she saw after some second years had abducted her for three weeks over a month before. She wouldn't speak of what had happened, only saying that it was 'horrible and scarring' and that she would never recover, and a huge fuss had been made about the whole situation, which Virginia, Lee and the twins had found quite ridiculous. It was a fucking _portrait_, for the love of Merlin, just paint and canvas and attitude, but everyone acted like they'd slaughtered an infant.

Pansy simply sneered and gave the fat bitch the finger, which had her cheeks turning red as she puffed up a breath to shout, and Virginia finally got her wits about her enough to intervene. Thanking Pansy for walking her to the Tower, she murmured something like '_the_ _masters' orders_' in a mocking tone before she glided back down the hall and into the shadows. Virginia half-arsed apologized to the Fat Lady and crept inside the common room, up the stairs to the boys' dorms and into her brothers' room. They always kept the door open for her, and it was her unspoken responsibility to lock it when she came in. The shields snapped up with barely a thought.

She knew she wouldn't sleep a wink that night, and opted to stay in a chair by the window rather than wake the twins and Lee by crawling into bed, and she didn't feel like talking just then. She'd only ever been close to four people before, the twins, Lee and Tom, and losing Tom had been agonizing. Could she do it again, could she open herself up like that? Deciding that there was only one way to find out, she grabbed a cloak and George's broom before throwing open the window to the slightly chilly air of early October and swooping out of it. She went high up into the lower clouds above the castle, before heading towards the forest and a spot she knew well.

An old tree had been hit by lightning years ago, and the massive, hollow trunk still stood, enough room inside for four people to lie down comfortably, and she had found it the year after the Chamber was emptied and sealed off by Dumbledore. She went there often, when she wished to be alone with the night and the stars, and occasionally, like tonight, when she wished to pray alone, to call on the darkness alone. Landing on the crunching leaves softly, she paid no attention to the growls and howls echoing from other parts of the concealing forest, making her way into her tree with ease before wasting no time and sitting cross-legged on her cloak.

Calling darkness to her was simple, natural, and felt more like it poured out from somewhere _inside_ of her rather than soaking into her like the twins and Lee and even Tom had described it. It seemed too much a part of her, as if there was an endless channel in her soul that was always open to it, and that was reinforced every time, when the feeling of the darkness and the night being _one_ engulfed her, so she didn't question it. She had never, and _would_ never, question it. Twisted black energy filled her to the brim and more, and slightly hysterical laughter spilled from her lips, her lungs, swirling and dancing in the air around her like shadowy silver mist.

Everything sped past her in a rush, everything from her conception to the present, and still she laughed, laughed and laughed and laughed, reveling in the sense of uncontrolled freedom and boundless power. She felt thick with it, thin with it, huge with it, small with it, and she craved more, always more. Once she was overflowing, once it seemed her skin would split open and she would spill out, she threw her question into that hallowed darkness as she had always thrown any question that she had no answer to, and waited for the answer to be thrown back. But she waited much longer than usual that night, so much more that she had almost given up.

But then it hit her like a weight, like a speeding train, and cut her laughter off short as she reeled from the reply. Then the laughter was back, the never-ending dark mirth, and she agreed without any hesitation. Springing to her feet and grabbing up the broom, she shot back into the air, going up and up until she broke through the trees before heading back to the castle. But she didn't go back through the window, she went to the bell tower, the highest point of the castle, landing on the top. The broom tumbled to the stones carelessly, bouncing against the low, stone wall at the edge, and she sat again, pondering the darkness's words.

'_If they now sense you, then you have no other choice._'

The meaning was clear. If they had somehow tied themselves together during what they had just shared, if the two of them could now sense her through those ties, then she was far past lost or drowning, far past any sort of escape. Not that she wanted one. No, the frightening part was the possibility that they hadn't, that they wouldn't. So, how to test the concept? She could call to them mind-to-mind, which could prove it since they'd never had the formal psychic greeting that allowed that kind of contact regularly, but considering how strong they were, they might pick it up even without those bonds or that greeting, which would prove nothing.

Or…or she could jump, which is what had brought her to this high campanile in the first place. But the more she thought of it, the less appealing it seemed. Because, really, she couldn't expect them to make it from the dungeons to the tallest point of the castle before she would hit the ground, even if she opened her mental shields a good minute before she flung herself off. Sighing, she propped her chin in one hand and watched the stars, her true fear rolling around in her mind. Gods, if they didn't sense her or just didn't come anyway, then she wanted to die. That brought a thought to her mind, a familiar one.

She had spent long hours pondering the best way to kill herself, because she had swore to herself long ago that if she hit eighteen and the world was still as dull and lifeless as always, then she would leave a grisly scene behind her for her family to find, to mourn. The twins had made her promise that she would do it with them and let them come with her wherever they ended up afterwards, and she had agreed. But they couldn't help her with this; they couldn't share in this one aspect of her life. So she picked a milder version of one of her favorites, and the skin of her wrists was like butter under her blade, soft and warm and creamy white.

All of her shields fell as wonder rushed in.

It wasn't white for long as scarlet gashes spread open like petals unfurling, silvery crimson blood began to stream from the wounds, hitting the stone beneath her with wet plops, the heavy drops seeming to fall so slowly to her entranced eyes. She had never allowed herself to cut so deeply before, and it gave her thrill that made her heart beat faster and her breath catch in her throat. She watched her nearing death as the granite all around her became slick with her blood, as her robe and skirt became soaked with it, as it sped down the grooves in the stone to flow out of the cracks in the low wall, trickling down the sides like vermilion vines.

_Vermilion_, she thought dazedly, her giggles starting anew as she started to get light-headed. _I've never heard anyone use that word to describe it before, but I like it. So unique…like them. _And she also liked the hazy blackness starting to eat at her thoughts and vision, she liked the suffocating weight of her imminent demise like a new adventure beckoning in the back of her soul, she liked the feeling of pressing oblivion. And she liked, no, _loved_, the sight of her blood spilling from her, the feeling of it sliding down her skin, the stinging pain of the cuts themselves…And she knew that if she lived, she would be doing it again and again and again…

But it didn't look as if she was going to make it more than another couple of minutes, tops, because she was still alone on the tower, alone but for the night, which was screaming at her to stop such foolishness. But its voice, for once, was distant and garbled, and she felt herself start swaying even as she kept laughing, her voice dying out and making it quiet, eerie, real. She resisted its attempts to heal her, because she'd been serious when she'd said that she would rather die than live with their rejection. Deathly serious. In the span of a few hours, they had become everything. _No_, she told herself, _not hours. Years. Forever_.

And to her, it all made perfect sense.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A furious voice seemed to sound from far away, so far away, and she found the breath to laugh even more, because she recognized that voice even as she knew that it was much too late. Then she crumpled and strong arms caught her, though she wasn't truly aware of it except in a strange, fuzzy way.

"Goddamn it!" There was that voice again, in front of her, while the other was behind her and laying her down with quick, efficient hands. Then two more hands were on her, and the voice spoke again. "Are you fucking _mad_?"

'_Who knows?_' She wanted to say, but she couldn't so much as gasp anymore, everything seeming to be failing more and more rapidly. '_Who really knows? Or cares? You came!_' And to her stupefied disbelief, they answered together, their voices as rich in her mind as they usually were to her ears.

'_'You came'!_' They mocked, their hands wrapping around her wrists as…_something_ began transferring from their fingers into her flesh, some dark, strange power that had her purring weakly. '_Do you have to be dense while you're fucking bleeding to death? And this was just _brilliant,_ Virginia__, truly brilliant._'

'_Well, do you have to be _sarcastic_ while I'm bleeding to death?_' She shot back, and it didn't seem as hard to think as it had a moment ago. In fact, her vision was clearing, and she could breathe normally again. But how? She knew that she'd lost much too much blood, even for the best of healers.

'_Yes. Now, would you care to explain why you suddenly projected your will to die and then we come to find you in a pool of blood? Did what happened upset you that much? Maybe Pansy was right._'

She had a feeling that that last comment hadn't been directed at her, and she waited to respond to the others for a bit, because the healing energy suddenly became quite pleasurable, and she couldn't think straight again. It finally passed, leaving her panting, and she opened her eyes to see them fully for the first time since they'd arrived on the tower. Both wore robes and heavy, hooded cloaks that were drawn over their faces, their full, curving lips and slightly glowing eyes the only features that she could see, and there were no broomsticks to be found besides her brother's, which made her wonder how they'd gotten up.

"It didn't upset me." Her voice seemed loud in the silent stillness of that moment, even though she'd barely spoken above a whisper. Dipping a finger into the not-quite-cool blood that surrounded all three, she held it up to the shifting moonlight. "Don't you find it fascinating?"

"Your blood?" They asked, looking slightly amused and slightly hungry, and she nodded.

"Oh, yes. And yours, too. It has so many properties, so many layers. Mine burns like fire through me, but I suspect yours would be cold, even as it still flows through your veins."

"Would you like a taste?" They crooned, leaning forward on their hands, not in the least minding the red liquid that swallowed their fingers and stained their robes. Something in the way they voiced that question made her examine it farther, even though it was extremely difficult to focus on anything but their nearness.

"What would it do to me?"

They laughed, velvety and libidinous, and her fate was sealed.

_End Flashback_

_Sealed, indeed_, she thought with a shiver. She was as lost in them now as she had been then, and the only thing that had changed was that she was no longer alone when her blood ran freely, and she was usually being fucked senseless as it flowed like a living river. And only two were given that privilege, for no others were allowed to so much as scratch her without that action being their very last. The lower Royals and the Dark Knights were an exception, but only if she demanded it. But truly, though the sex was fabulous, it just wasn't the same. That night on the tower, fucking in the pool of her blood that hadn't seemed to dry and that streaked across fair skin so appealingly, had made sure of that.

Something surfaced beside her, and she turned to face whatever it was, her eyes meeting those of what could only be labeled a monster, even to her wide-open mind. It was furry and a burnt-orange color, with too many limbs and eyes that seemed to sprout from everywhere, and its face (if you could call _that_ a face) was warped and distorted and all mixed up, as if a child had taken a bunch of parts from different things and stuck them all on a giant, fuzzy pear. It looked at her with miserable intelligence, and held one of those flipper-arm…_things_ out to her in a wordless plead for just a small brush of skin on skin to tide it over until it came back to beg again.

Nothing had changed and everything had changed.

_Begin Flashback:_

She didn't go back to her brothers' room that night, instead following them down to Slytherin right before the sun started rising, and no one in the common room questioned her presence until they were already in Draco and Blaise's set of rooms, the portrait shutting on their inquisitive, unbelieving whispers. Pansy, Anton, Melody and Theodore had all been sound asleep on a huge black bed off to the left in a dark room that shone with floating candlelight, but Anton woke as soon as they entered, a ring on his hand flashing briefly. To his credit, his eyes widened only fractionally at the sight that they made.

"Will you be bringing bloody, vicious little Weasleys in with you often, then?" He asked flippantly, stretching and rising to his knees, throwing the silk and furs off of him before crawling over Theodore, who didn't so much as flinch, and sliding off the bed soundlessly.

He was nude and seemingly unaware of it, and she couldn't help but admire the care with which he had been created. Not all Slytherins were beautiful without magic, but the ones that were, like Anton and the two next to her and those on the bed, were more beautiful than should be allowed, the age and greatness of their bloodlines evident in every curve and angle and positioning. And as she let her eyes roam to his, she felt the start of yet another newfound connection, and knew that Draco and Blaise felt it too by the smirks on their faces and the pleased glimmer in their eyes. Anton was also aware of it, and he glanced at them before looking back at her and giving a slight bow.

"So be it." He said before his gaze met hers once more, and she was laughing again, because for some odd reason, she felt as if she were surrounded by family for the first time in her life. The only things missing were the twins and Lee, but she would rectify that soon enough. Melody made some small noise, a sigh or a light moan, and her attention returned to the bed, curiosity drawing a question from her.

"Why do they sleep so deeply?"

"Spice." Anton said simply, before scooping up a robe and throwing it on carelessly. "They'll wake in a bit, in time for breakfast if I can rouse them without the usual fuss and complaining."

"And are you not tired as well?" She asked, watching his eyes flicker to Draco and Blaise again before he responded.

"I have a higher…tolerance. For the after effects, at least."

"Why?"

Another eye-flick. "It's all in the blood." He finally intoned quietly, but he didn't get to say more as the portrait flew open, Parvati Patil and Neville Longbottom, of all fucking people, storming inside and arguing loudly.

"You're wrong!" Neville was saying loudly, his voice different than she'd ever heard it before, stronger and much more sure of itself than usual, and Parvati shook her head, meranti hair flying.

"I am not! You can't store unicorn tears and goblin blood in that, let alone—oh."

"'Oh'?" Neville repeated incredulously. "'Oh', _what_?"

"Oh my sweet fucking gods." Parvati finished, her eyes glued to Virginia, and his followed hers, widening impossibly as he turned a slight green color and looked like he was going to faint.

"Shit." Spoken softly, she barely heard it, then louder, "Shit, shit, shit." It was probably the first time that she'd heard Neville swear, _ever_, and she couldn't help but stare. She was just about as shocked as he was. "I can explain, Ginny…"

"I don't think there's any need for that." She said, feeling like she surely had to be dreaming, except even _her_ dreams never got this weird.

Neville in Slytherin House? Still breathing and in one piece? Yeah fucking right. But there he was all the same, something that looked an awful lot like a jar of black blood in one hand, the other full of something meaty and unidentifiable that was dripping juices and something…_else_ through his fingers and onto the marble floor. Blaise and Draco both looked unaffected, as if they were used to such strange occurrences and having their rooms so heavily occupied, and they didn't even seem to notice who was standing there, so she supposed that was 'normal' as well. She still couldn't get over the obvious though. Neville in Slytherin!

"Actually, go ahead and explain." She said, changing her mind. "I'm just curious enough to listen to _this_." He paled, and she wondered when he would realize that, _hello_, she was in Slytherin too.

Parvati already had, she could tell by the dawning realization in the girl's eyes as they traveled over their crimson-flaked forms and sticky, blood-streaked hair, but Neville was back to being the stuttering, clumsy fool that she was familiar with, his earlier heated arrogance gone in the face of discovery, as he saw it. She could read his mind like a book if she wished, but him trying to put it into words himself should prove to be much more interesting. Laying her head on Draco's shoulder when he moved closer to her, she watched Blaise disappear with Anton through an archway to the right before she turned her eyes back on Neville, who started to speak.

"T-They offered me power, Ginny, _real_ power and not…not shit that I don't understand. Parvati br-brought me to them, and for a price, I got a taste of old blood and d-darkness, and I'm so much better now, so much quicker and st-stronger, as if they woke something up inside me that I didn't even know was there." Then he seemed to lose all pride in the face of what he thought to be a coming loss, and he begged quite pathetically. "Please don't tell, please, it's all I have, without it I'm back to falling over my own feet and fucking up every spell I come across. Please, Ginny, please don't tell."

She turned to look at Draco slowly. "You seriously took him in?" She asked, cocking a cynical eyebrow.

"For a price."

"What price?"

"His first two children by a witch of our choosing."

She didn't know whether to gape or laugh, eventually settling on the latter. "Oh gods, Neville, you swore away your children?" She gasped out between giggles, and he blushed. Looking at Draco again, she voiced her opinion. "You wanted his bloodline, yes?"

"The Longbottoms are old, and someone has to preserve the purity or it will fade, generation by generation, until the Old Ways are forgotten and the magic of our people gone. And honestly, it was quite nauseating to see a pureblood behave as he did, and is _now_." The last was said with a potent silver glare in Neville's direction, and the boy cringed, backing up into Parvati. "We'd gotten past this cowardly bullshit a while ago, but your mere appearance seems to have set us back over a year. What joy."

Neville was then dismissed with a disgusted wave of Draco's hand, and Parvati gave her a timid, uncertain smile as she followed him out. Still slightly shell-shocked, she couldn't help but see the evident humor in the situation as she got cleaned up and changed into the robes that Blaise and Anton reappeared with, already dressed themselves. Her bloody clothes were taken by a diligent little elf that she was assured wouldn't speak a word, and Pansy, Melody and Theodore were woken after a frustrated Anton finally resorted to Ennervating spells. Almost late for breakfast, she gave a hurried 'goodbye' before rushing out through another secret passage.

Neville and Parvati came with her, having been waiting outside the door, and Neville seemed to have gained a somewhat healthy pallor back to his skin, his hands no longer shaking. That slightly dignified air was back, as if he was only just realizing and understanding what and who he was, but as they stepped over the threshold into the Great Hall, she watched him purposefully slump a little and don a befuddled expression, and she tried not to start laughing again. Her eyes sweeping over the Hall shortly, her own glamours as firmly in place as always, she caught bits and dribbles of the thoughts of her peers, not caring enough to look any deeper.

It was a talent that had always come naturally, a gift of the night, and the only people that she couldn't instantly read were the Slytherins and a few other scattered purebloods that were trained in mental shielding. But if she wanted, she knew she could break through those invisible wards and eat their knowledge for herself. The only ones that she knew she couldn't do that with were her new lovers, their shielding much too dark and strong, but that was fine with her. With them, she wanted those barriers lowered willingly, as they had been only hours before on that tower. In fact, she just wanted to be with them, period. In any way, shape or form.

And speaking of the devil, they were coming through the doors, a dozen or so other Slytherins flanking them, and she felt her body grow tight just watching them walk to their table. She endured almost ten whole minutes of just watching them, before her control snapped and she rose from her place at the Gryffindor table beside the twins and Lee, who had already been looking at her strangely to begin with. What she did next didn't help those looks, but she was out of the hall before they could catch her and comment. Heading for the side door, which was conveniently by the Slytherin table, she walked up its length, feeling eyes on her from all over the hall.

Ignoring them and walking purposefully for the door, she was at the center of the table where the older students held court when she _accidentally_ tripped, her wand, which had been returned to her by Pansy the night before, falling from her pocket and rolling under Draco's feet. Looking up innocently, she could see the sixth and seventh years trying not to smirk, and demurely asked for her wand. With a mocking sneer, he kicked it to her with the toe of one expensive boot, and she grabbed it, giving him a meaningful look before getting back to her feet and walking away as if nothing had happened, not so much as a flicker of the dark heat inside her reflecting on her face.

Exiting the Hall and turning the first corner, she waited, and five minutes later, Draco and Blaise glided out, robes billowing behind them and their own faces set in neutral masks. They didn't even make it back to the dungeons, the first empty room they came to having the lock broken and the door warded behind them, clothes being reduced to shreds that they would be spelling back together later. Hours slipped by unnoticed as they showed her exactly what dark magic could do during sex, as they showed her just how much pleasure could be gained from pain, and she lost what was left of her soul to them then, just as they lost what was left of theirs.

Three became one, and they hadn't separated since.

_End Flashback_

'SPLASH!'

A long, silent pause, and then—

"Corpus!" Cruoris's indignant shout echoed through the chamber when he surfaced.

Virginia slowly turned to look at him, her head still spinning with image after image, and she saw him glaring up, presumably at his sister, whose tinkling laughter could be heard from high in the top levels of the room. His aggrieved state wasn't helped by low, silky laughter joining it from off to the side, the objects of Virginia's undying affection melting out of the shadows at the Pool's edge. A second later, someone's head hit the water, followed by a limp body, and Cruoris groaned, mumbling something like, '_That was my favorite slave, you fucking bitch_,' before sinking back under the surface, much to Draco and Blaise's amusement, not to mention Corpus's.

Virginia smiled.

Cruoris must have really annoyed Corpus this time, because that was the third slave this week. The first had been found staked above a statue of Cruoris in Veneficus, the fifth city, and the second on the cooking rack down in Umbra's kitchens (which had provoked the head chef into a four-hour rant on sanitization and the importance of labels). Not that it really mattered that they had died, since the bloody things seemed to breed like rabbits anyway. Weak, mindless, powerless rabbits that were only good for servitude, entertainment and food. So really, it was just a matter of thinning out the herd, nothing more.

Her children were just so adorable sometimes, especially when they were arguing.

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The second part of this chapter will be out shortly (I hope), but not if you wonderfulbeautifulspectacular people don't review! (Can you tell I'm sucking up?) So…REVIEW!!!!


	4. Eternal Queen

Disclaimer:I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's mine, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

**Responses to Reviewers: ****tkmoore**, you're a queen among queens, my dear, as always. (grins) **Sunday-Morning**, read the note at the end of the chapter carefully, and tell me I don't love you. (grins smugly) **sillysun**, omg, your reviews are always the best, lol. I loved the shivering part! :P Thank you!! **Pia O'Leary**, thank you so much! (runs away to hide blush) **morphed**, glad to keep you amused, lol! **erin**, why, thank you, thank you very much. :P **Tytianne**, thanks, and I hope this was fast enough! **Flower4444**, thank you, and don't worry. _she's_ certainly not depressed, lol. and finally, someone who appreciates the flashbacks! **Artemisgodess**, THANK YOU!!!! **otaku**** sae**, well, I'm very glad you waste your time on me. :) **DiagonAlley**, thanks!! **ForbidenMaggiks**, thanks! no one's mentioned the summary before, lol. **Lady Eros**, of course! all of those and more! :P **Haunted-Shadows**, umm, I take it that means you like? (grins hopefully) **me**, your first wish is my command…just not quite yet, lol. the second, well…not in this chapter, at least. :) **AnitaBlake/BuffyFan**, THANKS!! **bigreader**, yes, they're Virginia's and Draco's and Blaise's children, lol. love ya! **DragonSpitfire22**, thank you!! **NeoAddctee**, thanks a bunch, and sorry you don't like the flashbacks. **Icy Lullaby**, lol, glad you enjoyed it! and tell her that I agree: They're _hott_!!! **Virginia Riddle-Malfoy, **ohhhhhh. well, she's not in this one much, so rest easy, lol. **madmissymel**, she _does_. Corpus and Cruoris are theirs, silly. :P **Golden Rose Storm**, thanks! it's good to know that they're appreciated!

**Author's Note: **I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?

**Author's Note: **Some French, some Gaelic used in this chapter, but nothing major. And please bear with the flashbacks. They're the way I'm telling the story, alright? Thanks.

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"Mother, tell her I'm right. Head shots kill faster than heart shots, don't they?" Cruoris asked with thinly concealed arrogance, but all Virginia could do was smile and open her lips as if to reply. No sound came forth from them but for a sigh, the Pool's power still coursing through her intoxicatingly.

"Leave your mother be." Blaise said distractedly from the edge of the dark water, his attention riveted on Draco, who was stripping off his robes and tying all of that metallic hair back with a black ribbon.

"But she's been in here for _hours_, and I'm _bored_!" Cruoris complained, sounding for all the world as if he were no older than five again, and Virginia could practically _feel_ Blaise rolling his eyes.

"Didn't we just get a new batch of courtesans in? Go play with them."

"I have."

"Then go hunting."

"I have."

"Then go release a few souls in the Menagerie."

"I have."

Blaise snarled. "Fine. Then what is it that you wish to do so badly that bothering your mother _right now_ is necessary? Honestly, you _do_ have an eternity to turn her hair gray."

"I…" Cruoris paused for a moment, obviously not having bothered to think that far ahead, and he crossed his arms over his chest, still floating easily, his handsome features twisting into a pout. At the moment, you really wouldn't have thought that he was one of the best warriors on Terra. "I want her to braid my hair."

There was no imagining Blaise rolling his eyes that time, as he did it quite plainly, and before Cruoris could say another word, he lifted one alabaster hand the barest bit. A second later, Corpus leapt over the low railing of the first landing from where she'd been having a half-shouted argument with her brother over fatal wounds, and right onto his head. Both twins sunk under the surface, black droplets falling around Virginia like rain, and then they exploded upwards again, levitating over the water as they had a short, but vicious, fight. Corpus ended up the victor as she usually did, Cruoris's reason for that being that he wouldn't fight her like he would most, and with a smirk, she glided over to Blaise, hauling him in by his long red hair.

"Here, papa. Better braid the miscreant's hair before I rip it all out." She said sweetly, kissing her father's cheek and glaring at her brother.

Cruoris sneered at her, twisting away in one violent move and leaving a handful of that flaming hair behind, turning to his own father. They shared the same mother, but Corpus was Blaise's and Cruoris was Draco's, thanks to the use of old black magic during their conception. They both considered each of them their fathers, just as Draco and Blaise considered each their children, but if you wanted to get technical…All you had to do was see the eyes. Cruoris was the next in line for the throne after Blaise, and Corpus after him, though should anything ever happen to those who sat upon the thrones now, Blaise would follow swiftly and the twins would rule together.

"I hate her!" Cruoris exclaimed, and Draco smirked before diving into the water and making his way out to Virginia, ignoring their squabble with long-practiced ease.

"You do not." Blaise said lightly, a small smile replacing his sneer, and he pushed Cruoris down gently until he was sitting on the lip of the Pool, his legs dangling in the water.

Blaise sat down behind him, his leather-encased legs to either side, and a silver brush studded with emeralds appeared in his hand. Corpus gave her sire another quick kiss, kicked her brother in the ribs, and flew back up to where Theodore had Bella backed into a corner as if threatening her, but by the noises escaping her violet lips, she was enjoying it heartily if he was. Everything calmed again, Draco smoothing fingers through her wet, silky hair as Blaise brushed Cruoris's curly mane until the younger male was purring, his silver eyes closed and his face peaceful, and she gave up her fight on consciousness, letting the Pool rule her thoughts once more.

_Begin Flashback:_

It wasn't hard to convince the twins and Lee to come to Slytherin with her nightly after they had been judged and found worthy, and she watched as they grew stronger and darker, as they made friends with people that they'd never dreamed of speaking more than insults to before, as they started becoming the awesome powers that they would one day be. But her attention was only half of what it had been, for as soon as Draco or Blaise entered whatever room she was in, all other thoughts vanished with startling speed. The rest of her fifth year took on a pattern, the days melding together in her mind like a dark, joyful collage.

She got up, got fucked, went to classes and fucked some more in between them, skipped lunch entirely for better lessons, finished off her last classes with sticky thighs and tingling skin, and then retreated to Slytherin. Draco and Blaise always disappeared after their last class, returning hours later after meeting with the Dark Lord, and she'd been reduced to tears when she'd learned that Tom really was still alive. She wasn't taken to see him yet, though, and all she could do was trace her lovers' Dark Marks with her fingertips, her tongue, her magic. She wanted one of her own, wanted to share that with them, wanted that tie to Tom.

Others of her new friends had their Marks already as well, and all had grown used to her petting them like the sacred brands that they were. So while her lovers were away for those few hours each day, she would study with those waiting for their return just as eagerly as she did, study everything from curses to bed games, and they delighted in telling her and showing her all of the things that her boyfriends enjoyed which she had yet to discover on her own. That list soon dwindled as she discovered more about them every day, as she somehow fell more and more in love with them every day. It was a delight to do so, and she marveled at her new freedom and feelings and power.

She marveled at her new life.

She became closer to Pansy and Anton, to Melody and Theodore and Sebastian and Daphne, and soon, her small family had grown from three to many, and she reveled in it. They _understood_ her, were starting to love her even, and she returned the favor with dark vigor. They became _hers_, and she would protect them until her dying day so long as none betrayed her. They had yet to learn to respect her as they respected her lovers, but that would come in time. She was next in their affections after Draco and Blaise, and would one day be equal in them. And due to her brothers, she also became closer to the Patil twins, though they took longer to grow on her.

But Pansy and Anton…They were her best friends and her lovers' best friends, and they would remain so throughout everything. They were the ones that she spilled her secrets to when the twins and Draco and Blaise weren't around, they were the ones that she first allowed to touch her before the bed games became more and more common. Despite her caliginous spirit, she'd grown up in the wrong background to have even _considered_ the possibility of casual sex. The first time that Pansy had kissed her during one of their 'witching nights', as they called their all-female…get-togethers, she'd been shocked, aroused and terrified, all at once.

Shocked because, well…because Pansy had _kissed_ her, aroused for the same reason, and terrified because she would do _nothing_, however fleetingly pleasant, that would jeopardize her relationship with her boyfriends. And if fucking one of their best friends didn't count as a point towards 'jeopardizing', then what, exactly, did? Pansy had seen all of it, because for once, Virginia didn't bother to hide behind a schooled mask of indifference. Her friend had smirked, pulled her to her feet, and drug her to her boyfriends' rooms. More than slightly wasted already, Virginia had let herself be led, everything too confused and too confusing to let her think properly.

The following discussion on what lines were crossable and what lines were _not_ had been slightly mind-boggling, but easy enough to understand. They would not, under any circumstances, share her lightly, nor would they share her with just anyone. There were standards, very, very high standards, and she would stay within them unless she wanted _them_ to sleep with low-class filth as well. She had asked what she was if not 'low-class', considering her family's status, and their looks had been as eloquently exasperated as their words. '_You, lovely Virginia, are anything but low-class_,' they'd said slowly, as if making sure that she was listening carefully.

So the lines were fully drawn, acceptable bed partners chosen and agreed upon, and Pansy's triumphant grin had been a new awakening. The last of her thoughts formed by her family shattered, and suddenly, _anything_ was possible. She learned so much, yet so little, that year, and Pansy was an excellent tutor in all things, as was Anton. Many long hours spent waiting for Draco and Blaise were spent with them, the twins and Lee on that gigantic black bed, scrolls and ancient tomes spread out around them like a parchment blanket, and one lesson ended only for another to begin. But Draco and Blaise…they were the real teachers to them all.

Pansy and the other Slytherins were far ahead of the newly-arrived Gryffindors, but those two were far ahead of even them, and it was why Tom kept them at his side so much. They were _brilliant_, there just wasn't any other word for it except 'genius', and even that didn't do those dark minds justice. All they had to do was read something once, and they remembered it always, filing it away in the extensive libraries their minds had become over the years. But that alone isn't what made them so unique. No, it was what they _did_ with the knowledge trapped inside them that blew everyone away. They were…prodigies.

They combined it all somehow, _how_ she had yet to understand at the time, and it came out in ways thought to be impossible. A levitating spell suddenly became a flight spell after this was tweaked and that word pronounced with a slight rolling of the tongue; a shield charm, with the proper additions of moonwort, lilac, blood and ice cream, could stop even muggle bullets, which had been one of their greatest worries; and a certain potion made with unicorn tears could cause _Avada Kedavra_ to fuel itself off two or more wizards at a time and spread over a twenty-foot radius of utter destruction. And those were just a few of their many creations.

Inspiration always seemed to strike them randomly and together, and usually during the most _un_inspiring things, like Professor Binns' lectures or some detention with Filch that had usually been fully earned and that weren't, in McGonagall's opinion, '_the_ _proper example for Prefects to be setting_'. If she only knew. And how did Virginia know about these sudden bursts of enlightenment? By excited mental summons that she could never ignore, whether she was in class or studying or, once in a rare while, sleeping. The lure of knowledge was too great, and so was seeing their eyes shining with rare abandonment and glee as they explained it all to her in minute detail.

Because they were at their most passionate – in a non-sexual way – when they were standing over their workbench, some potion or another bubbling and popping and steaming off to the side and a million little things sliced and diced perfectly at their fingertips. Scrolls would be everywhere, filled with their elegant scrawl and numerous tiny notations written in Parseltongue, which meant that only five people alive could read what was written. Two of those people were them, Tom and Virginia had free access to anything of theirs that they desired to see, and Harry would never get the chance, not that he would have understood even an iota of it anyway.

And it was always dark in that workroom, so dark, and that darkness felt alive with their power, alive with the years upon years that they'd been making magic within those warded walls, and she loved it there. It was a sanctuary where she could call on the black energies all she wanted, anytime she wanted, and it was where she got to see her lovers so fervent and honestly…_happy_ with something. And it wasn't that they were _un_happy in general, they were just…bored, she supposed. Ready for the war to start. Because if anything else but magic and her could put that zealous gleam in their eyes, it was the talk of conquering, controlling, ruling.

Oh yes, they had more ambition than Caesar himself and twice as much arrogance.

But they did not want an unequal relationship, and neither did she. So they taught her everything they knew, slowly at first and then faster as she caught on quickly and opened her mind fully to what they were telling her, showing her, giving her. And she, she found that she had a taste for ambition herself. '_Queen_ _Mab_,' they called her, '_wild and fey and free and greedy, the bane of Merlin and all things good and fair_,' and she would laugh, laugh until her sides hurt and tears streamed down her cheeks, because Mab was the Queen that her mother had cursed most often, swearing her the bride of the devil himself. It was a fitting title, indeed.

And so they taught her, and she embraced each lesson fervidly.

They taught her to heal, and she listened to every word, practiced every movement and power structure and name until she could have reattached a limb in her sleep. They taught her to listen, to hear more in words than just what was said, to hear the slightest inflection and change of tone or meaning, and Anton had been so right when he'd said '_It's_ _all in the blood_'. Because their blood _did_ change her, made her something new and strange like they were while waking her own blood up in the process, as if it had been sleeping away, waiting for their invigorating touch. It took on more silver after that, until it sparkled in candlelight like liquid diamond.

They taught her to see, to look past the outer shell and focus the gift of telepathy that she'd possessed as long as she could remember until it was a veritable weapon in itself, until she could splay open someone's mind and pick through the insides like one would a bag of candy, taking the best pieces and discarding those that were of no interest. They taught her smell, to open herself to the entire new world that advanced scent made available, and it was like seeing in kaleidoscopic vibrations, as if she'd taken too much spice and couldn't make the world come fully back into focus before her eyes, because she didn't _need_ her eyes anymore.

They taught her to taste, everything from skin and blood to different currents on the air, and soon enough, she could name every herb they had (which was pretty much every herb there was) blindfolded, her only clue the tiniest bit of one on her tongue. There would be no undetectable poison in _her_ wine, no deadly concoction that she couldn't name, duplicate and improve upon. They taught her to touch, to genuinely feel what was underneath her fingertips or brushing over her skin, and the same blindfolded test was preformed until she also knew each herbby texture, as well thousands of other assorted ingredients, like feathers and organs and furs.

It did wonders for foreplay.

They taught her to inflict pain, pain that had nothing to do with pleasure, until she could force a muggle to the ground, writhing in soul-splitting agony, with the slightest command, mental and verbal alike. Then it was two muggles, then three, then four, until she could weave her net of agony over an entire room full of them with ease, breaking their minds at will if she chose, their pleads and whimpers becoming primitive and base as they were swept away by the tide of broiling black energy within her. And with every single scream, she could feel her power grow, expand, until it was like a scalding ocean within her.

They taught her to kill, to point wand or blade or sheer willpower at another creature and, without so much as blinking, strike in the most lethal ways. They showed her curses that could slowly eat minds, curses that could slice flesh from bones like the most careful carver, curses that built mental prisons worse than any living torture, curses that could bring the strongest and proudest of their kind to their knees. They taught her how to use the night within her to kill, to smother someone in the cold darkness, to suck the life from them slowly. They taught her the arts of the blade and the bow, the staff and the sais, the axe and the mace.

And she remembered and revered them all.

_End Flashback_

_Yes, that was a very interesting year_, she thought distantly, and a snicker from above had her eyes focusing on the present, for a little while, at least. Two more snickers echoed the first, along with a horrified squeak, and her gaze followed the sound to its source. Was that…Yes, it _was_ Draco on the third landing, her brothers to either side of him, and they had one of the slaves, dangling it over the ledge before bringing it back to safety only to do it again. Every time Draco waved his hand to either side, the slave wobbled precariously from its suspended state in the air, and it looked so scared that she was surprised that it was still conscious.

All three of _them_, however, looked positively jovial as they taunted it, letting it drop a few feet only to yank it back up. And then she realized why it was still awake. It had reached that point, a point she had seen breached in many, that was past simple fright, and it was, quite simply, too terrified to faint. It knew what even a tiny splash of that onyx water would do to it, and it also knew that passing out would make the game dull for the Royals, which would annoy them, which was never, ever good. It hoped, at the moment, that its fear would satisfy them and it would see another sunrise, and it knew that if it gave in to its distress, they would probably drop it just to get another quirk of momentary amusement.

"Mothhhhhhhhhhhhhher…" A lyrical voice crooned from her other side, and Virginia turned slightly to meet her daughter's eyes. "Mère, how much longer? We miss you." Her lips curled into a pout twice as effective as her brother's, and his was bad enough. ((Mother))

"Burn old bridges and build new ones, weave them from clouds and burning suns." Was what came out when Virginia tried to respond, and Corpus sighed and shook her head.

"A while longer, then?" She asked ruefully, quirking an eyebrow in a move so reminiscent of both Draco and Blaise that Virginia giggled, and even that came out sounding old and full of jaded, reckless age. But before Corpus could say anything more, Draco and Blaise spoke as one, their eyes glimmering strangely in an all-too-familiar way.

"What did you say?" They demanded, that odd intensity making their eyes fever-bright and positively glorious.

"About cloud-spun, sunlight bridges?" Corpus questioned, speaking for her mother since she couldn't, and her fathers stood abruptly, Blaise from where Cruoris was nestled snugly against him, his hair in a thousand tiny plaits, and Draco from the low railing where he'd perched like an agile cat.

Cruoris, jolted by the sudden movement, nearly fell headfirst into the Pool, but Blaise's instincts were too quick for that, even though he was barely even in the room anymore, his mind a million leagues away and brewing something brilliant. Draco forgot about the slave completely, and it shrieked and shrieked on its way down, swift, dark oblivion being the best it could hope for at that point. Fred and George looked mildly thoughtful for a second, before they caught the thing a foot from the surface, watched relief and disbelief and joy color its features, and let it go, laughing as it hit the surface, a tentacle scooping it up quickly.

Had Virginia been anywhere but the Pool, she would be sharing in whatever had them so captivated, but the black waters held her too strongly. That's one of the things that they loved about working with her; after they'd shown her the ropes, she'd shared in those bouts of inspiration and had aided them. And female magic and male magic were different. Subtly so, but still different. With her added to their metaphysical mix, nothing was beyond them. They could control the earth and the weather, the sky and the stars, truth and lies, love and hate, life and death. They were almighty and immortal and supreme, gods among their people.

As well they should be.

_Begin Flashback:_

She met Bellatrix Black seven days before the end of her fifth year, seven days until she would be going back to that…that dingy, conservative _nightmare_ that was supposed to be her home, even though her true home was wherever her loves happened to be. Bella was beautiful, no one could gainsay that, with her glossy black hair that fell to her knees and a face that was over forty and looked barely twenty-five. Azkaban had been no true trial for her, because her good memories were what most people would consider 'bad' to begin with, and she felt no guilt, no remorse for her actions. After a few weeks of healthy food and rest, Bella was back and hissing.

She kept her hair free and flowing, parted down the middle to lie like a silk sheet around her, and high cheekbones curved back to delicate ears that were barely visible. Her eyes were as black as everything else about her but for her skin, and her lips looked as if she'd just finished smearing them with wet blood. Oh, and she was mad, mad and noble and magnificent, and Virginia liked her, maybe even loved her, from the very first moment that she saw her. She'd stepped out of the Slytherin fireplace, not a drop of soot anywhere on her, and the proud cruelty surrounding her had drawn Virginia's attention from the first second of eye contact.

And Bella had been drawn to her, as well. Ignoring the older Slytherins that had the nerve to greet her, she came straight towards Virginia, their eyes never parting. The older woman only looked away when she leaned in and embraced Draco and Blaise, an expression of mingled emotions on her face for a moment; motherly affection, sisterly affection, love, lust. Then those eyes were back on Virginia, and she stepped forward, extending her hands in greeting. Virginia took them without hesitation, not noticing many of the Slytherins' swift looks of shock as she found that Bella's hands were as small and dainty as her own and just as strong. Bella leaned in to kiss both of her cheeks, and her lips were like Draco and Blaise's.

Cold and infinitely drugging.

Her friendship with Pansy started out with fists and fighting, but her friendship with Bella started out with lips and low laughter. For that is what both did when they pulled away, the mirthful sound trickling from their throats like syrupy velvet, and they sat down right there in the common room, everyone but a few being ushered out by her pleased-looking boyfriends, and they talked for hours and hours about…_everything_. Their connection was instantaneous, immediate, and Virginia didn't look at her as Draco's aunt and Blaise's godmother, but as a confidant in all things, one of her truest friends. And Bella felt it too, like an invisible wire running between them.

"You absolutely cannot be allowed to stay with those horrid people all summer." Bella said long after she'd arrived, taking Virginia's hands in hers once more. They were like ice, but Virginia was used to chilled flesh and found it quite erotic. That more than likely had a lot to do with her cold-blooded boyfriends. Ectothermic, indeed.

"I don't see how I can avoid it. I have yet to reach my majority and won't for a over year yet." Virginia replied, a small, sad smile on her lips. She never wanted to go back; especially not now that she knew what life could be like…

"That is unacceptable." Bella stated, her lips pursing in thought. "You will wither being around them constantly, like a rose choked by weeds."

"The twins—"

"Will get out of there as soon as possible, as well. They would have already were it not for you, and there is no reason to keep them there when you shall scarcely be there yourself."

"But how—"

But Bella had it all worked out. "Well, I shall set a new challenge before my nephews." She said, those eyes turning to Draco and Blaise, both of whom had knowing smirks on their faces, their eyes calm and poised, ready for whatever she asked of them as if they already knew what it was.

"Anything for you, Auntie." Blaise intoned slowly, and Bella smiled, which made her radiant. Blaise was not her nephew by blood as Draco was, but they did have family ties from a few generations back, and as his godmother, she was like an aunt. An aunt who occasionally got the urge to fuck him silly.

"Then you have six days to teach her to Apparate. That or we shall be making portkeys by the bundle all summer long."

"Six _days_?" Virginia asked incredulously. "But it takes—"

"It took us four." Draco cut in smoothly, his eyes appraising and confidant. "We were considering this anyway. So long without you simply would not be possible, ma chéri."

And so it had been settled, and she went home on the Express as she was supposed to, but that night found the twins at her window on broomsticks, their faces flushed and excited as they took her hands and Apparated away. So began many such long, steamy nights, the air so thick and full with heat that it shimmered even after the sun had gone down, and she finally got to see Tom again. He remembered everything that they had spoken of in the diary, as he had been spiritually connected with it, and he still loved her as he once had, and she him. He Marked her that first night, and the only other times that she'd ever known so much joy was in the arms of her beloveds.

But then, they were incomparable, so…

It was marvelous. Every single bit of her time in the Death Eaters' manors and villas and forests was just _marvelous_, and she dreaded the dawn more than ever before, for it signaled that her time was up, that she must return to that…that _place_, that place that was nothing more to her than a cage and she the bird trapped within with clipped and broken wings. But the sunlight was the clipper, the destroyer, and the moonlight healed her, let her soar once more in its dark majesty. The nights were filled with balls and galas and coven meetings, with battle plans and spying and recruiting, with blood and sex and drugs galore, and she was finally home.

Almost every moment of her time with them was spent with her boyfriends on either side of her, Pansy and Anton somewhere nearby, the twins underfoot and causing vicious mischief, and Bella, hovering like an illusion she was sure would shatter, but that stayed stronger than most and next to her during everything. And then, one night a month after summer had begun, Bella's husband, Rodolphus, came home from overseas where he'd been doing business for their Lord. She had taken his last name when they wed and kept her own as well, for she rarely used his, favoring her maiden name above all else.

Virginia was anxious to meet him, and Draco and Blaise anxious to see him again, as they had not in over a year, nor had anyone in France, Britain or Europe. He walked into the ballroom, where Draco was spinning Blaise around on the dance floor and trying to keep them both from falling over, as they'd consumed over half a dozen bottles of old wine and brandy apiece, and neither were too steady, though they still danced with unmatched grace, the drums like lava in their usually frozen veins. Virginia was dancing with Bella not too far away, their hair flying around them madly as they spun and swayed with unrestrained pleasure, and she spotted him first.

A hush fell, the drums and lutes and harps going slowly silent, and every eye had soon turned to their missing comrade. He looked around, finally spotting Bella and smiling, and she went to him, embracing him passionately and finally releasing him, turning to Virginia and her nephews, beckoning them forward. But they were all three rooted to the floor, their eyes locked onto the only wizard that had been able to catch and hold Bellatrix's heart, and fury spilled so strongly into them as they looked at his soul, as they could not help but do, that they felt fit to bursting with it. Virginia vaguely heard a hiss escape her as she took a revolted step backwards.

"Wha—" Bella started, looking, for once, confused and incredulous, but her nephews cut her off.

"You will die for this." They said, but their murderous gazes were not for Bella.

No, those fear-inducing, furious eyes were all for Rodolphus, and he stumbled back a step, just as any person without a death wish would do. Then, with several hurried, blurred strides, they were before him, Draco's fist smashing into his jaw as Blaise's connected with his lower abdomen, and he flew backwards, slamming into one of the marble pillars that encircled the dance floor. Bella's hand shot to her mouth, her eyes wide with true astonishment. Appearing at his side again, Blaise kicked him hard in the head as Draco got his spine, and the steel-toes of their graphorn-hide boots made very pleasing noises when contacting with bone.

"No!" Bella exclaimed, finally finding her ability to breathe once more and starting towards them, her lovely features twisted with dismay. "No, stop this! Stop!" But her nephews didn't listen, much too enraged to tell her why, and Virginia shot forward, wrapping her arms around Bella's waist and pulling her backwards. Bella spun as if to strike her, before their eyes locked and she froze. Something in them must have reached her deeply, and she started shaking. "No."

"Bella—"

"No!"

"Bella, listen to me!" Virginia half-shouted, shaking her and uncaring of the eyes on them. No one had moved forward against the Dark Lord's cherished ones, for no one dared, even if it meant watching Rodolphus die without even knowing a reason for it.

"I do not want—"

"He is tainted!" That time it _was_ a shout, and the whispered murmurings stopped dead, as did Bella's protests. She seemed to deflate, and her eyes were so wounded as they lifted to meet Virginia's again that she seemed to feel physical pain from those words.

"How?" She asked softly, so softly, and Virginia steeled herself, remembering a time before when she had made an accusation such as the one that she was about to, and she feared the reaction to this one as she had not feared the one she had received before, her mother's slap seeming to sting her cheek anew.

"His spirit reeks of muggle filth." She said, drawing together her courage, and the silence, but for snapping bones, was so thick that she felt as if she could tread upon it.

"No." The protest was back, but it was dull, lifeless, just like her ebony eyes.

"He has deceived you, Bellatrix Black, betrayed you in the most unforgivable way. A magicless Canadian whore now carries his child, as even you have yet to do. And she wears a gold band around her finger with a promise of marriage singing in her heart. I am…sorry." But that word felt empty, unworthy of her pain, and Virginia wanted to scream for her, cry for her, because just the thought of something so foul was stomach turning.

A veela screech, full of fury, echoed through the room moments after her words, but it was not aimed at her like a similar one had been in the past, nor was she slapped and called a liar. No, Narcissa shoved through the crowd, her husband at her side and Sirius, Jeran and Silana on her heels. She was crackling with energy, her white-blond hair whipping around her and her eyes a smoldering, enraged red as she made a beeline for her sister's mate, and she snatched his broken body away from her son and his lover. One clawed hand tangled in that dark brown hair and drug him up by it, before she let go and punched him as hard as she could.

Veelas were not women to be messed with.

"Motherfucking son of a bitch—fucking kill you—dishonor my sister and my family, will you—how _dare_ you!?"

She was shouting almost unintelligibly, her accent thickening until it clouded her words into a mix of English and French, and Virginia didn't think anyone had ever seen her so livid before, judging by the stunned looks on their normally expressionless faces. Silana grabbed her, pulling her back as Blaise and Draco sprung forward again, Blaise slamming his foot into the cringing, crying man's chest, pinning him down as one would an insect, and there was a sword in his hand a moment later, which he flipped with an expert's finesse, extending it hilt-first to Draco, who had the stronger kinsman's right. But Bella finally moved.

"No." Her voice was stronger, clearer, and many looked at her with slightly gaping mouths, unable to believe that she still defended him, after hearing of his treason. Stalking forward, Virginia's hands releasing her that time, she went to Draco, who stood, his face veneered with deadly intent.

His arm was frozen in a downward strike that had been a foot from piercing the bastard's chest right above Blaise's booted foot, and the looks on their faces said clearly that they wouldn't listen to any arguments or pleas in his case, mad light swirling in their eyes. But Bella didn't argue, and she certainly didn't plead. No, she took that black-handled sword from her nephew, who didn't resist her movement, and with betrayed tears of shame and a new, evolving hate, the sort of hate that only scorned love can cause, streaming down her cheeks, she raised that blade herself and drove it into his heart without another second of hesitation.

Silence was not the right word for what enveloped that room before Bella started laughing, and there was a slightly hysterical note to it, as if that sword was stuck between _her_ ribs, not his. Draco and Blaise just stared for a moment, before spitting on the body and telling the house elves to take it away. Virginia went to Bella's side, dropping down beside her gracefully, and Bella looked up at her, an insane grin tugging at her lips as she kept laughing, her tears done with as quickly as they'd started. She doubted that Bella had shed so much as _one_ in years, if she ever had before, and she knew one thing. She didn't deserve to ever again.

Doing the only thing that she could think to do, instinct driving her more than conscious thought, she kissed her. She kissed her with wild, healing ardor, kissed her and told her with lips and teeth and tongue that she was not alone, that she had ones who loved her more than _he_ ever had right there with her, forever and ever, and they would never hurt her so, never even dream of it. She poured her affection into that kiss, her appreciation and adoration, and she powered dark power into it as well, like a soothing, ecstatic pulse of cleansing, numbing flames that burned out the betrayal and made that wounded place cold, dead, shriveled.

A detachment that should have taken years upon years was accomplished in minutes, and when Virginia finally pulled away, breathless and more than half-high on her magic, Bella was staring at her in wonder and a bit of awe, her scarlet lips moist and swollen, a trickle of blood trailing down from the corner of her mouth to her smoothly rounded chin. But what elated Virginia was that there was no more agony in those beautiful eyes, no more overwhelming despair. The madness was still there, but hadn't it always been? Like an echo of herself, a slightly distorted mirror. Looking up at a small movement in the crowd, she locked gazes with her Lord.

She knew not where he had come from, but she was glad that he was there. His presence was comforting and thrilling all at once, not as much as it was with her beloveds, but almost, just on a different level. And he had never desired any different of her, because he had been content with Nagini for many long years. He walked towards them slowly, his every movement perfection, his almost-black hair swaying around him, loose and unbound. They stayed where they were, kneeling on the floor, while Draco and Blaise each gave slight bows as he passed by them, brushing fond fingers over their cheeks as he stepped over Rodolphus as if he weren't even there.

"So, our dear Lestrange trifled with treason, hmm?" He asked, his voice slightly sibilant, his smoldering eyes on Virginia. She inclined her head, and he took it for the affirmation that it was. Looking out over the others that had frozen, clueless hands holding spilled wineglasses and carelessly burning cigarettes and cigars, his voice rose just enough to travel to every ear. "Do any gainsay her claim?"

And to Virginia's growing exhilaration, not a single person in the room objected or questioned her. They took her words for truth, and as she looked at them, she saw that it was not just because she was being courted by the Malfoy and Zabini heirs, not just because she was highly favored by their Lord, but also because they had started to respect her over the last month as they had watched her power grow and strengthen under her lovers' knowing hands. They liked her, she knew that much already, they liked her and the twins, because thanks to them, an old, pure line that they had thought lost to them had been returned.

And…and they just liked _them_.

It was a revelation of sorts, the sort of thing she'd dreamed of but never really dared to hope for overly much, but it was coming to fruition right before her eyes, and her heart skipped a beat with foretelling. She suddenly saw them all on their knees, their faces, with their voices rising in worship and dark devotion, and then she was in the ballroom again, a feral grin spreading across her face. _Yes!_ She thought triumphantly. _Against my family's wishes, against their wildest nightmares, I shall rule in the court of night when it forms, my loves at my side and our Lord in all his glory before us on a dais made of faith and purity. _

Little did she know, her fate was greater than even that.

_End Flashback_

Her husbands were long gone, most assuredly locked away in their suite of workrooms, which spanned an entire wing of the Palace. She did not know what about her words had set off that spark in them, but something definitely had, and she knew that she would hear all about it later, so she did not worry nor wonder at it. Hours had passed, though the sky stayed dark and star-spangled since it was winter in Antarctica, and Umbra would therefore not see the sun again for months. And loving the darkness as they do, they stayed there for the six months of constant night, reveling in the uninterrupted starlight.

They only left for Utopia, the second city on the floor of the Pacific, once the summer and never-ending sunlight took its turn, though they visited the other five cities regularly. But Umbra and Utopia were by far their favorites, and she never felt more at home than she did when surrounded by ice or waves, unless she was deep in one of the mighty, sprawling forests. Her eyes still on the stars, on the cherished sky, she wished…But no, it would not do any good to explore that old dream, as there were some things – a very few, mind you – that magic could not do. And taking her out, out into that speckled, infinite blackness, was one of those things.

But maybe…maybe one day…

_Begin Flashback:_

That summer seemed to pass so quickly when the sky was filled with moonlight, and so slowly when the sun shone brightly on her in her familial prison. She did not even try to laugh or smile stupidly at them when they talked to her anymore, and the aunts would gather, whispering of her rudeness and need for discipline, while the uncles thought that she should be taken to a reform school after the ninth time that she'd escaped their wards once they'd discovered her nightly absences. Bill and Charlie just said it was a 'stage' even as they avoided her for all they were worth when they were there, and Percy and Ron mostly stayed in their oblivious little worlds.

Her parents, though…She loathed her mother, loathed everything about her, and she despised her father, because he was weak, deficient. He let her run all over him, never taking up for himself or his children and never sticking to it the few times that he did, and Molly knew it, using that knowledge regularly for all she was worth. And he…he just bent over and _let_ her. It made her skin crawl with disgust, and had made her ever more thankful for her boyfriends who, for all their love and affection for her, would never be so cowed and humbled by anyone or anything, even she, their pride and strength being much too great for that.

And then, one night in a muggle church, that year of school and life-changes was decided. The three of them were sprawled across the altar, their bodies slick and glistening from hours of fucking on it just for the hell of it, just to see if they could goad the heathen god into action. Every inch of her skin was trembling and glowing, nerve endings all over her body wriggling in delight as she reeled, her mind mad and mellow all at once. A bare minute passed, no real recovery time at all, before they propped themselves up on their elbows to either side of her, and with one simple question, asked her to forsake her family and House.

"Would you like to be a Slytherin this year?"

They need not have bothered inquiring, and she threw the past away like old garbage, embracing her new life with open arms and dark rapture. School started and she took her rightful place in her true House, not giving a damn what the other Houses thought about it. Dumbledore watched her with sad eyes, and she no longer hesitated to sneer at him. What did he know? He had no idea of the many pleasures to be found in darkness; he had no idea what it was really like, being too blinded by his moral standings. His brother knew, though, and she actually liked Aberforth. She looked forward to Dumbledore learning of his treachery.

Ron acted devastated, of course, and she found it all too amusing. She knew that he cared about the whole mess, but not nearly as much as he pretended to. And then…then Blaise had asked her to take his name and join his family, and she had never known a happier day at that point in time. He also told them of a vision he'd had, a vision of their wedded union and that should they bind themselves, their destinies would span ages and they would be the greatest of their kind. They faltered, though, not wanting to separate themselves from him, but he'd insisted quite vehemently, and they had agreed in the end, Draco's ring heavy and pleasing on her finger.

She kept it hidden until the last illusions and glamours surrounding her were stripped away on the day that she took her love's name and swore herself into his line as a 'sister' to him. By vows and blood and tears, she was tied into their lineage irremovably, the power of the Zabini essence overcoming the Weasley in her until she was flushed clean and rebuilt, her very cells changing with the process, making her both Zabini and Weasley in an odd mix that was intriguing and completely fascinating. Most that were adopted didn't ordinarily take such elaborate measures, but they were not ordinary, and her newly built kin-ties with Blaise and his family were exhilarating.

Every Zabini alive and dead felt her inclusion among their ranks that day, felt the new power settle itself in the midst of their head branch at their patriarch's command, and they knew who she was, just as she knew who each and every one of them were. And then, more distantly, she felt the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the McGregors, the Arcdines, the Blacks, the Snapes, the Notts, the Delacours, the Averys, the Baddocks, the Montagues, the Rosiers, the Warringtons, the Wilkes…The list went on and on, spanning millennia of marriages and alliances and dalliances, and faintly, she could even feel her old family.

Because as much as they liked to claim otherwise, they had not always been of the Light, and they fit in the circled web of shared blood, however little. And it shocked her, the enormity and depth of those connections, and it made her feel as if she could never be alone, because there would always be someone close to you that you could call 'cousin' at the least, no matter how many generations removed. Because the oaths that a wedded pair took were unbreakable _forever_, carrying down through descendant after descendant as long as the blood stayed pure and untainted. And because of that, there were holes in the web, holes that reeked of waste and pieces missing.

'_The_ _Ruined Ones_,' the purebloods would murmur, '_the_ _Lost Ones_,' and the weeping decay of those holes was poisonous, maddening, and they constantly ached for them to be filled, for their lost lines to be returned to them, no matter how impossible that need was. A prime example was the Potter line, fouled and wiped out in one blow as soon as James had spoken those unremitting pledges to a mudblood, which his parents never would have stood for had they still been alive. They would have killed Lily before they would have let their son destroy their honor and pride and purity by marrying her and breeding her.

And then look what she did, the filthy muggle bitch! Nearly killed their Lord to protect a child that's very existence shamed the name Potter unforgivably! Voldemort had been weak when Sirius's plan had worked and they'd made Peter their Secret Keeper, weak from one of his many experiments in finding the secret to true immortality, but he had gone to Godric's Hollow anyway, against his first circle's pleading. And their world had fallen apart at the seams. Lucius and Jeran's quick planning had been the only thing that saved so many of them from Azkaban or worse, and they'd waited quietly for their Lord's return, for they'd known that he was not fully dead due to their Marks.

And all of that could have been avoided had James not been a complete fucking idiot and just married a Black or a Johnson or even one of the Weasley cousins if he'd wanted a light witch. Or if he'd really loved the mudblood that much, the least he could have done was produce a pure heir before he ran off with her. It was uncommon, _very_ uncommon, but not completely unheard of. But because he hadn't, the other purebloods suffered, and every new hole created a new weakness. She had vaguely felt something of the sort before, but her family had never taught her how to tune into such things, and the night had known that she would learn later.

And learn she did. Keeping the blood pure and undiluted took on a whole new meaning when you could feel the overall waning magical supply that it was causing, when you could feel the slow corrosion of all you and your people were like an un-healing wound deep in your heart of hearts. It took on a whole new meaning when every new pure birth gave the web some of its strength back, when you could sense it all as if you were a spider sitting upon silken threads, the vibrations constantly running along them telling you so _much_ if you knew how to listen. And that night was when she learned of one of her boyfriends' most earnest wishes.

To repair the wounded holes that never stopped bleeding.

And step one was to stop the dilution at its source: the muggles and mudbloods. At the end of her sixth year, the Great War started, and what could she say? She loved every moment of it. She found battle of all kinds to be beyond titillating, and there were few things better than slaughtering entire cities and fucking like wicked demons come to earth right there on the bloody field among the corpses of those that fell before them. She came to crave it, crave it until she could barely stop at all, and when she saw the bloodlust and grisly madness in her beloveds' eyes, she knew that her own echoed theirs perfectly.

Rarely was she without a blade in her hand for months afterwards, the other fist filled with darkfire, and she hunted and played and commanded and conquered, her family being some of the first to suffer at their hands, but they were the least of their prey. That August she turned seventeen, and she already had claim to the utter demolishment of eight countries and five world leaders, was a general to thousands in her Lord's command, and was wedded to two of the three strongest people on the planet, barring herself. Everything was going perfectly according to plan, and it all came to a head one night on the lower border of Texas, spilling over the river into Mexico.

It had definitely been climatic, to say the least, the last of the American, Mexican, European and Soviet troops meeting them full-out, their problems with each other forgotten over the long weeks of watching their 'invincible' armies fall to dust before creatures of legend, of seeing their 'tecknolollogy' mastered by forces they couldn't comprehend or hope to overcome. And in the end, when she stood side by side with her husbands and the twins, victorious and light-headed with triumph, waist deep in the river that was running thick with blood and bodies, she howled in absolute conquest and dominion, mocking heaven with their defeat.

But how unfitting that that giddy joy was to last less than a day.

It was a glorious twenty hours, though, positively _glorious_, with wine and liquor of all kinds coating every throat, spice being handed out freely, and the darkness called and layered over them like an orgasmic blanket. They danced and fucked and sung and praised, they laughed and fought and fucked some more, and they made magnificent plans as they spun around the bonfires to the deep, booming drumbeats that made their insides vibrate, their arms stretched to the night sky in thanks and glory. It was a night of shifting powers, the rule of the world switching sides once more, but the fate of it was not decided until the next night.

For they had found McGonagall, and ripped Dumbledore's location from her mind some days before. And Draco, feeling a weird tug of foreordination, left them only to return in their midst with a scowling Aberforth and Dumbledore's lifeless shell. The people celebrated with even more zeal after that, but those closest to Draco knew that something was wrong, horribly wrong. They went to him, she and the twins and their most trusted friends and family, and they left, Apparating to Morte Nera and questioning why he looked so furious and so heartbroken. Slumped in a chair, his head in his hands, they had never once seen him so discomposed.

It was quite terrifying all on its own.

"He…I…" He couldn't seem to find words, any words, and they all exchanged glances, their worry and blooming fear becoming denser, more real.

What could have possibly upset him so? Out of all of them, the old Death Eaters and the new ones alike, out of all the people who had grown up hiding and concealing their emotions, he and Blaise were by far the best at it. They could watch their own _mothers_ being slaughtered and not so much as bat an eye. Hell, they could probably do it themselves and laugh the entire time if either one ever pushed their patience that far. But there he was, his body shaking ever-so-slightly and making light tremors in the velvet of his robes, unable for once in his life to meet their eyes, as if he were ashamed. But he was never ashamed of anything he did. _Never_.

And they could feel nothing from him, not the faintest whiff of emotion, because he'd shut down his Dark Mark and retreated deep within himself, a feat that only the strongest of them could manage because of the Marks' power. He just sat there for the longest time, his hair like a curtain of flickering molten steel in the low candlelight, falling over his hands and face and trailing down to lay like silk on the rich black carpet. He didn't move or even seem to be breathing, that fine trembling the only indication that he was even alive. To say that they, the ones who knew him best, were beginning to panic was an understatement of massive proportions.

"Luaidh…" Blaise started slowly from where he was kneeling on one side of Draco's chair, Virginia on the other, and she finished for him, a habit that had grown harder, rather than easier, to control over time. ((Beloved one))

"You are scaring them with your silence. You are scaring _us_."

But Draco said nothing, and it was very, very bad if he wouldn't even answer _them_.

"That's it." Lucius said after another minute, standing, his eyes showing the barest bit of a fierce alarm that only parents can possess in regards to their children. "I'm getting Tom, maybe he can—"

"No!" Draco shot out of his chair, his face a mix of so many things for a single second that it was impossible to decipher it all before he went blank again. But his eyes were still shining, shining with fury and hurt and hate, and the wretched note in that demand had them almost as shocked as his refusal.

"_No?_" They all questioned incredulously, new apprehension building in their hearts. His eyes fell closed, his fists clenching, and then they opened again, filled with purpose and returned tenacity, the madness in them more advanced than they'd ever seen it. He gained his own strength back and more just before ripping theirs away.

"We have been betrayed."

He might as well have cast a silencing spell, for the room grew deathly quiet and still, as if time had literally stopped mid-tick, and she could _feel_ her heart freeze over, _feel_ her lungs close up and her blood start pumping slower. Who? Who had betrayed them? Who would dare? Her eyes darted around the room, searching everyone within it in a way that she hadn't since first meeting them, trying to see if she'd missed something, if she'd really been so wrong about one of them, because it _had_ to be someone in that room. Draco would never have been so wounded and enraged had it not been someone he trusted, someone he loved, and only they that fit onto that short, short list.

Blaise was the only one skipped by her suspicion. There were no misgivings with him.

"By who?" They both asked Draco, sliding closer to him and rising to their own feet, narrowed eyes still sweeping the room's occupants with deadly intent. Draco laughed that rare laugh that sounded like bubbling brooks and trickling fountains, flawless liquid music, but there were hints of crushing waves and deeper waters in it then, hints of a brewing storm unlike any ever known. A storm that was building rapidly and starting to escape his hold.

"Ah, and that is the question, is it not?" He asked, spinning away from them in a swift, slick movement and turning to face them, his back to the others in the room. Confused, since he never would have done so had he not still had faith in their loyalty, Virginia and Blaise watched and waited, a sense of doom and rebirth thick in their throats.

"Yes."

"It's quite like looking for a wand in a woodpile." He laughed again, and pulled a knife from one billowing sleeve. "A very cleverly hidden wand."

And then, in a move that took a total of two seconds, tops, he lifted his arm, the sleeve falling back, and impaled the Dark Mark on his forearm with one vicious stroke. Virginia nearly fainted as the ripples of that action reached her through her own Mark and through the ties of their binding, and the others did but for Blaise, though he swooned and nearly fell over. And strangest of all, Draco grew stronger rather than weaker, his aura bursting from his skin and coating the walls in silver light bright enough to blind. He was laughing again, his eyes glowing with a deranged, psychotic spark that swirled through them as if being chased.

"He is dead to me." Draco purred, pulling both of them to him, the dagger still in his arm, and they understood the impossible. They understood what he'd done, why he'd done it, and they almost wished that they didn't.

Their Lord would never betray them…would he?

"He has been lying, lying, lying." Draco said in a singsong voice, his nails digging into their skin where he held them, and they melted against him, trying not to start screaming, because if they did, they would never stop. "He is nothing more than a halfblood orphan that siphoned purebloods' power until he could fool even us. He is a parasite; a muggle fungus that deceives and destroys and devours, poisoning purity with his very existence."

"Oh gods." Virginia was barely aware of speaking, her entire world falling apart as she stood motionless, the rubble of it seeming to cage her in with bars built of deception and despair as he explained it all, as sentence after venomous sentence spilled from lips turning a strange, frosty blue. None of them noticed that the others had come to long before, listening soundlessly, stunned and horrified. And when he was done, when he had told them of all he had stolen from Dumbledore's dying mind, his next words would shape the new world.

"He, he who wished to be King of us!" Draco spat, the hole in his arm long-healed around the blade that had turned his Mark a brilliant, bloody red that shone even through the rivulets of the real thing. "He who we have bent the knee to for years! He who we put our faith in, our _pride_ in, he who we followed unerringly! The bastard son of a broken witch and a _muggle_ that didn't even want him! And now…now I must do the only thing honor will allow that pride to do. I will cleanse the taint from my name and appease my ancestors. I will have revenge."

"No." Virginia and Blaise said slowly, their minds stopping their rapid spin and that fine trembling spreading along their own skin. "No, _we_ will have revenge."

Perhaps it was luck that they always carried so many blades upon their persons, blades hid and held by spells and charms and sheathes, or maybe it was just because they felt uncomfortable without them. But regardless, it was no hassle calling one of those blades into their hands, no hassle to pull back their sleeves and puncture their own Marks, no hassle to ride the ripples that time as something buried far beneath the surface erupted within them. Suddenly, she felt hot, so hot, as if she were burning up from within, and she barely noticed the crimson glow pouring from her flesh, which felt like a furnace. And through their binding, she sensed her husbands.

Draco was cold, so cold, like a walking statue of solid ice, and Blaise was dark, a starless night sky and smothering shadows. She had a second to acknowledge that something seriously strange was going on, before she was completely consumed by boiling fury. She melded into her husbands' minds with long ease, and they saw as one, felt as one, _were_ one. Grabbing the hilts of the knives in their arms, all of which were freshly healed around the spelled platinum, they twisted them roughly and pulled, the sound of ripping, tearing flesh loud in the silence. Before they could heal again, they sent this newfound power of theirs down the links in the Marks, calling…calling…

Those in the room that had buckled under the strain of the violation of Virginia and Blaise's Dark Marks shot up again, gasps flying from full lips as every eye was irresistibly drawn to the three of them. Crawling to them, their proud heads lowered in respect and awe and fear, they waited at their feet as they had only done at one other person's. But he had lost them the moment they learned of his lies, and they were adrift, leaderless, until they felt that dangerous, comforting pull at their Marks. It was different, layered, stronger, and they could no more refuse it then they could refuse a god. They didn't wish to anyway.

But they were not the only ones affected. Apparating back to their field of victory, every living soul that wasn't already there and that bore that now-scarlet brand came to them, thousands upon thousands upon thousands, Voldemort the last to arrive. The multitude of confused purebloods parted before him, making an aisle as they usually would, and Draco, Virginia and Blaise waited for him at the head of it. He watched them with wary red eyes, as if he knew what had finally happened and had been dreading such a thing. He reached them and held out a hand bearing the heavy silver ring of Slytherin, but none of them knelt or laid lips upon its smooth surface.

"Will my cherished children no longer bow before me, then?" He asked softly, his face set and hard, and Nagini slithered around his ankles anxiously, sliding in and out of snake form randomly.

"We are not the children of a halfblood." Their voices rang clearly, accusingly, and the instant uproar around them was instantaneous. An explosion of sparks from Anton's wand and a rumble of thunder from Bella's quieted them after a minute, and every eye came back to them.

"A _halfblood_?" One nameless wizard cried out. "What trickery is this!?"

"_His_ trickery." They hissed, their eyes on one they had loved and now hated with everything in them. Throwing their magic together, they lashed out with a panther's quickness and stripped him of his illusions, illusions made from the stolen power of their people. The outcry that time was deafening as all sensed what they already knew, and Nagini solidified completely into a petite, dark-skinned woman with black, beaded braids and destroyed eyes, leaping away from him and landing in an animalistic crouch at Virginia's feet, a whimpering keen building in the back of her throat.

"M-my lord?" She called in a strangled whisper, and his eyes held nothing when he looked at her, while hers held enough grief to flood the world.

He stayed silent.

"You, Tom Marvolo Riddle, stand accused of perfidy and duplicity." They said in voices like cold, uncaring iron. "How do you plead?"

"You'll kill me, won't you?" He asked instead of answering. "You'll kill me, one you claimed to love, and you won't think twice, will you? You'll destroy me as you've destroyed so many others, destroy all I've built in the process, and I'll merely be one of the uncountable bloodstains on your hands, hmm?"

"That _you've_ built?" They snapped angrily. "_We_ led the armies, _we_ fought side by side with our people, _we_ won this war, while you sat on your throne and mocked our heritage with every breath that you continued to take. But it won't be so anymore. This stops _here_, tonight, and nothing will be destroyed but the shame you have brought to us. Now, _how do you plead?_"

"Fine! As you can all now see, I am not pure nor wholly perfect! But who will lead them? Who will govern and guide them without me?" Voldemort shot back, his voice becoming heated, and they grew still and reflective, thoughts flying between them.

'_Well?_' Blaise asked dryly. '_Who shall lead us, then?_'

'_I am done with being led._' Draco replied icily. '_Look where faith and trust have gotten us._'

'_I want to rule._' Virginia said suddenly, and they turned to face her almost lethargically, long, satiny hair sliding over their cheeks and obscuring their features with the movement.

'_As the lady wishes._' They responded after scant seconds, their eyes glowing with an unholy light, and when all three next spoke aloud, their lips formed their next words carefully, guided by something other than themselves as they spoke with the voice of divine decree, their hushed syllables carrying to the farthest reaches of that gore-splattered field.

"We will."

Then, that odd, familiar energy engulfed them, and all three screamed as it crashed through them. The unique sparks that had long flickered within them fucking _exploded_, exploded _inwards_, and they blew apart before being rebuilt into something so much _greater_ than they had been, their inner shields lost in the maelstrom and releasing something that they hadn't even known was inside them. Mystical and majestic, immaculate and almighty, it became them as they became it, and all faded before them as their power stretched over the earth, until they held it in dark hands and knew they could destroy it with a single squeeze of sacred fingers.

Then the power exploded _out_, leaving her in wall of liquid lava as it took different shapes within her husbands. Draco was ice, ice so frigid and glacial that nothing stood a chance before it, and Blaise was shadows and darkness, crepuscular and eclipsing, devoid of any light at all. The three twisted with one another beautifully, and made her want to kill things. A voice that sounded an awful lot like her mother's bloomed in her mind, screaming at her to fight it, to not give in, but she had surrendered to depravity long ago and was used to getting what she wanted ever since. So she didn't hesitate when they slammed that destructive power into their fallen Lord.

Cackling with delight and retribution, they forced him to the grimy ground, forced his mind open and made one who'd never screamed shriek in pain beyond nightmares. Calling on the very demons that had made him a Dark Lord, they gave him back to them, gave him into their nefarious care and felt not a twinge of…_anything_. The pain of his betrayal was gone in the face of their new power, gone in the face of whatever divinity had awakened in them with it, and every person there felt the change in them. And when, after long, long minutes, the demons finally took his spirit and retreated back to hell, they proved their own worth inarguably, once more guided by unseen hands.

"Behold a new age!" They crooned in those echoing voices, lifting their arms and flaying their skin open with razor-sharp nails. A startled, exuberant cry went up next to them, soon flowing out in widening rings until every throat echoed it, and the earth shook with their people's triumphant howls as they all fell flat upon their faces, a sea of living souls at hers and her husbands' feet.

Because that night, they began bleeding blue and Old Royalty ruled once more.

_End Flashback_

_And still does_, she thought smugly. She felt the Pool's power start to pull back from her, abating until strength was the only thing gained from the water, the visions of memories slowly clearing from her mind. Taking a deep breath, she sat upright, the water supporting her as easily as stone would, and she found her children curled up on either side of her, dozing upon the softly lapping waves, their arms pillowed underneath their cherry-haired heads. They were so beautiful, so precious…_My darling little ones_, she thought, even though they were no longer small. They came to attention when she moved, and both smiled at her lazily.

"Rejoined the living, have you, Mother?" Corpus teased, stretching before rising herself and giving Virginia a soft, quick kiss, taking her hand. "Come, we can finally go see what papa and Father have been doing now that you're back. Some ingenious new experiment, no doubt."

_No doubt_, she agreed silently, smiling ruefully. The swim to the edge was easy, a half-formed wish letting them sink into the water, and she pondered what new discovery would be waiting for them. The Light ones, the righteous ones, would have said that many of the things they made were dangerous and deadly and cruel, were too dark and frightening to ever even think of, but they were all dead, and their opinions mattered not. How sad they would have all been to know their futures of rotting in mass graves while the pure mages held court above their forsaken and forgotten bones, how sad they would have been to know that Dark would conquer Light, that Night would conquer Day, that Black would conquer White.

How sad they would have been to know that sometimes, there are no undefeated heroes. That sometimes, the righteous just die.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

…(snickers)…Anyway, as you can see, it's not finished yet, due to the requests for a D&B point of view, which voids the extended summary altogether…(sighs and grumbles)…I'm such a slave to your whims. So REVIEW and return the favor, bitches! LOL


	5. Caliginous King

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's mine, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

**Responses to Reviewers: tkmoore**, your brilliance is unsurpassed, my dear, as usual, lol. **Sunday-Morning**, (bows before you, oh review goddess) smooches! **otaku**** sae**, LOL, and glad you liked it! love ya! **CrackingUp**, thanks! (bows back) **morphed**, (snickers) it amuses me that it amused you, lol. :P – thanks!! **mell8**, thank you so much!!!! **sillysun**, (snickers) I liked that part, too, lol! **Haunted-Shadows**, THANKS! love ya!!!! **Flower4444**, well, I did say this was much different from most 'Fire and Ice' fics, lol. :P - and thanks! **bigreader**, hope you like this too, and don't worry, they're not going anywhere! **gin rose raposo1**, thanks, and here's more, as requested! **AnitaBlake/BuffyFan**, thank you so much! it's good to know someone appreciates them! love ya! **Lithui**, (sniffles and wails) I love you, too! :) **Pia O'Leary**, no, not yet, original fiction's next, lol. and thanks! **me**, totally awesome review as always, and I adore you for them!! thanks! **Artemisgodess**, you know, I think that's one of the best compliments I've received so far. thank you! **Icy Lullaby**, thanks, I was hoping someone liked them, lol! **yo**, OOC stands for 'Out Of Character', and OOTP stands for 'Order Of The Phoenix'. :) **Lady Eros**, thanks! that took a while, so it's good to know it was enjoyed!

**Author's Note: **I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?

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_I do not need to rest_, Draco thought sourly, glaring at the back of his wife's head as she drug him forcibly down one icy hallway, their robes whispering over the frosty floor. _What I _need_ is to get back to work and preferably shag her silly before doing so. _Sighing as she shoved open the doors leading into the Shrine of the Divine Pool, he knew there was no way to talk her out of this. She got this way every few years, all motherly and concerned, and he and Blaise suffered heavily for it with asinine shit like _relaxing_. Who could possibly relax when they were as close as they were to finishing the greatest achievement in the history of Terra?

Perhaps she'd let him go if he screamed.

But no, that wouldn't be very wise, he decided, since half the goddamned Palace would come running, and he'd get no peace at all for _days_. Wondering if it would be unseemly for a King to whimper, he settled on forming his face into a mask of pure agitation and annoyance, to make sure that she knew exactly how very generous and sacrificing he was being in not doing something extremely childish, like pushing her down and making a run for it. It was a tempting thought. His work tugged at his mind like an irresistible lure, demanding and cajoling, yet here he was, standing at the edge of their rippling, black-watered Pool, doting on his wife's hormones.

She was obviously trying to drive him mad.

"I am _not_." She hissed, spinning on one heel and narrowing those beautiful charcoal eyes. Hmm, he really hadn't meant to project that so strongly… "How could I possibly drive you more mad than you already are?"

"Your wit, my lady, astounds me each and every time."

"If only I were joking…" She trailed off dramatically, and he contemplated tossing her in the water.

On one hand, she was quite hot when she was irate. On the other, he really _was_ quite intent on shagging her stupid sometime in the near future, and that might…_dampen_ his plans. Getting revenge was a delicate situation with her, but he was more than up to the challenge. And then it came to him as he saw her eyes flicker over his lips in a very familiar way. He'd just use himself, of course. It never failed. Stalking away from her with a disgusted roll of mercury eyes, he turned back to the water as if pondering whether or not to bolt. But that decision was already made, and had he been a lesser wizard, he wouldn't have been able to keep the smirk off his face.

"Fine." He growled, and he caught her own smirk out of the corner of his eye. _Oh yes, enjoy it while you can, lovely one_… "I'll get in the stupid bloody Pool and relive my stupid bloody memories. I'm sure it'll all be very therapeutic or what-the-fuck-ever, and when you drag me out in two days, I expect to be shagged immediately, or I shall simply never speak to you again."

"I understand, love. And just remember: Blaise has to do it, too."

"Yes, that does soothe the sting, doesn't it? But it doesn't help being reminded that he doesn't have to _yet_, and is therefore still in our workrooms, stealing all my brilliance."

"'_Your_ brilliance'? Draco, we all three—"

She stopped quite abruptly, and quite pleasingly, when stage two went into effect and Draco's robes slithered to the ground, leaving him in nothing but shimmery silver, black leather, and snow-white skin. Her sudden, indrawn breath and increased heartbeat were music to his ears, and the smirk he'd been suppressing rolled across his lips as he felt her eyes travel over fishnet that left naught to the imagination, leather that might as well have been poured on, and flesh of supple marble. He was beautiful, he knew that, too breathtaking to be simply handsome, but delighting her was delighting in itself each and every time, even if he _was_ being a tad bit vindictive at the moment.

The shirt came off next, blending in with his hair as he pulled it slowly over his head, muscles bunching and flexing with the movement in liquid, graceful lines. Then it was off and being flung carelessly to the side, and when she took her first step toward him, he dove in without even bothering with his boots or pants, determined to make her suffer for making him suffer. No doubt that _she'd_ be going back to their workrooms after making sure that he was fucking _resting_, and she and Blaise would be doing wonderful, grand things, or even, gods forbid, _finishing_ before he was through with this drivel. He swore to himself then and there that they'd be fucking sorry if they did.

The ebony water was cold, and dark, and he found he'd missed it somewhat.

_Begin Flashback:_

His first worthwhile memory, not the blurry half-awareness of conception and development and infancy, nor the boring redundancy of his first two years, was of Blaise's eyes. He could clearly recall everything about that moment, their very first meeting, when a blond witch that looked a lot like his mother came into the nursery one day, a small child at her side that had one hand wrapped in her silk skirts. He reminded Draco of himself in the way that his face was shaped, in the fullness of his lips, but those eyes…they were so _blue_, a blue darker and more vibrant than any jewel he had ever seen, and he wanted to keep them and the boy that they were attached to.

If he'd known what '_forever_' was, that's what he would have meant.

As it was, he only knew that he felt somehow lost, as if he'd wandered too deeply into the Manor on his own again, and yet somehow found, as if his father had come along, making everything alright once more with his mere presence. But the little boy wasn't his father, and yet he still wanted him to stay, unlike most of the males that he met. His mother said he hated them because he was still so young, that he was only following his instincts, and that he'd learn to control them soon. Then why didn't he wanted to order a house elf to hex the black-haired boy that was staring right back at him with the same confusion in those spellbinding eyes?

"Draco, darling, meet Blaise Zabini." His mother said, rising from the window seat where she'd been sharpening the knives that he used when she taught him to wield them in the afternoons.

The name instantly clicked, as memorizing the bloodlines was also practiced daily, and the Zabinis had been the first that he'd ever learned about, as his father had said that if the Malfoys had any equals, it was them. Immensely pleased that the boy with the fascinating eyes bore that surname, he abandoned the small doxy he'd been sticking large sewing needles through, leaving it pinned half-alive to his moving model of the solar system, Saturn not giving a shit if it was screaming. The boy's hand fell away from his mother's skirts, his head tilting slightly to the side as he moved forward as well, blue eyes flashing.

And…there was a _spark_ in him, a spark like Draco had only ever seen when he looked at himself, and they stopped within an inch of one another, simply staring as the night within them both reached out slowly, so slowly, until it met itself and twined together. Who knows if minutes or hours or days passed? It could have been centuries and neither would have noticed before it fell back apart, taking something of its other half with it as it sunk back into each of them. Neither heard their mothers' startled gasps, nor heard the murmured exclamations of the house elves that had been drawn by something…strange.

They were inseparable afterwards.

Years were spent constantly at one another's side, since the quiet fury each possessed when separation was mentioned was more than enough to get their parents to back down. For they all knew what lived inside their children, _had_ known since the first time that they'd held them, and they knew that their actions would be remembered and judged. And they had hoped for such, prayed for such, and took great pride in what lived inside them both. They nurtured those dark sparks, nurtured them and kindled them and set them ablaze with knowledge, and they marveled at what he and Blaise did with what they learned.

The first time Narcissa's roses bloomed dark green and silver one sunset and hissed at those that passed by, they said nothing, only stared and preserved them. When a house elf left their rooms one evening, its skin pale and smooth, its eyes gray and glowing, its hair as red as blood and its features sculpted into those of a young girl that promised to be radiant, they still stayed silent, watching as the effects slowly wore off over a day's time, even though the transformation shouldn't have been possible to begin with. They even stayed silent when Draco and Blaise walked in, stabbed their hands with their fathers' swords, muttered '_the_ _night_', and disappeared again.

But their quiet restraint broke when they woke up early one morning when it was still dark outside to silver light soaking through every wall of Morte Nera, casting shifting shadows and playing along the walls in living tendrils. They tracked the light to its source, and found that their sons had decided that the night didn't last long enough, so they'd turned _Lumos_ into the moon. Or a recreation of it, to be more exact. Yes, _then_ they started speaking, speaking of everlasting dynasties and ruling Terra completely, and Draco and Blaise were fascinated, immediately loving the sound of worldwide domination. Everyone and everything bowing before them?

Positively lovely.

And they weren't the only ones interested. Pansy and Anton slid from the wardrobe they'd been hiding from the blinding light in, creeping over to Draco and Blaise and sitting beside them on the thick furs while the adults spoke in rushed, excited voices, shooting their children fond looks every few moments. The imitation moon had been extinguished with a surprisingly simple charm, and the eight-year olds sat soundlessly in the low firelight, absorbing every word that was uttered. They'd all been raised to rule, of course, but this discussion was…different. It spoke of complete power, complete dominion, and they wanted it, even then.

And they knew that they could have it, too, for they might be arrogant, but they had plenty of reasons for that arrogance. They had not been raised blind, nor morally, and they had long understood that the magic they practiced was lethally dangerous. That's what made it so fun, after all. And they also knew, that in the right hands, it could overthrow the rule of an entire planet. It had been done before, though not in a long, long time, and their parents thought that Draco and Blaise were the next to do so. They said that it had grown too obvious to discredit, that the sparks were proof enough, and that when their Lord came back, they had to be ready.

And so the two boys trained harder, soaking in every bit of knowledge about everything they could find, going through text after text and scroll after scroll in the libraries of their main estates, which spanned floors of each home, multi-leveled mazes that seemed to stretch on forever. And when they weren't drilling or studying or going on muggle-hunts with their parents and family friends, they were flying, sweeping through the clouds without a thought but the endless stars all around them. It was hypnotizing watching the night sky, almost as hypnotizing as Blaise's eyes, and time passed swift and slow under its dark glory, days starting and passing unnoticed.

They traveled, of course, they had been since they were born, and they saw everything worth seeing, went everywhere worth going, and when they were done, they realized that there was still so much _more_ to be seen, to be done, and it would start all over again. Their parents obliged their wishes when they would get captivated by some culture or artifact and need to see it themselves immediately, since it's not as if they were desperately needed somewhere that they couldn't reach by Apparating. Business managers took care of everything but major decisions, and their fathers came as often as possible, since they said trips with them were never boring.

Pansy and Anton were almost always with them, as were various other purebloods, Melody, Sebastian, Theodore and Daphne the ones that they liked best, and who were the same age as they were. But it was the first two that they kept with them the most often, and they were the only two that they ever took with them when they went to visit Bella, Rodolphus, Sirius and the other members of their immediate families that were waiting to be freed. Narcissa and Silana left with broken, angry hearts every time, while Lucius and Jeran would be cold and aloof for days afterwards, fury burning hotly in their usually blank eyes.

That's when Draco and Blaise would creep into their study, sneaking up on them as they sat before the emerald fire that they always had burning, crystal tumblers of firewhiskey in their hands and their hair unbound from their usual ribbons. They would be on a couch or a divan more than likely, leaning against one another as if drawing silent support, and their sons always gave them quite a start when they would just appear before them, crawling up onto their laps and whispering vicious obscenities about every Ministry official they could name until both ended up laughing, their rage distracted but never forgotten.

Then they would talk them into a hunt, complaining about knowing so many new curses and not having gotten to try them out yet, and their fathers usually gave in without very much trouble, since they enjoyed taking their sons on hunts and teaching them to kill and maim more than just about anything else. '_Bonding_', they called it, and their sons agreed, for there was definitely something tangible and tying in the air when one helped another spill blood until it pooled around their feet and soaked the hems of their expensive robes, until it stained small hands and larger ones alike, white and crimson peaking from beneath billowing sleeves.

They hunted with their mothers as well, though not as often, since they liked going with their veela sisters most of all, and though their sons carried veela blood, they were not female, and therefore couldn't meld with their hunts as well. Not that they wanted to go anyway, considering that the 'sisters' never left them alone, cooing over them and patting their hair constantly, purring about how gorgeous they would be in a few more years and asking their mothers for bedding rights, which both always gave sneering refusals to. Their presence at a hunt usually ended in one of their mothers drawing blood, and not that of a muggle.

So they were more than content to let Pansy go with off with her kindred those nights, while Anton stayed with them, preferring to steer clear of such gatherings as well, since he had it nearly as bad. But their mothers had all demanded they go once a year at least, and those times were treated with the absolute loathing that they deserved from any self-respectable male, veela blood or not. And add that blood to the vampiric blood of Draco and Blaise's fathers' and the werewolf of their great-grandfathers', and they were a unique mix indeed, not to mention that strange, dark spark within them that highlighted their blood and made it…_different_ from any other.

Oh yes, they had plenty of reasons to be arrogant.

But their never-ending days were put to a halt when their Hogwarts letters arrived, side by side with ones from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, but there had been no real choice. They would go in Slytherin, of course, just as every member of their families' head branches had since the school had opened. Any other family members that went to Hogwarts had been sorted either there or in Ravenclaw, but they had long known which House they would belong to. There really wasn't any question about it. But what they were told the night before they were to leave squashed their excitement and made them doubt their fathers for the first time that they could remember.

"This year," Lucius started that night at dinner, "will be the first in your true path to adulthood, and we expect you to uphold the family names at all times, not that we're concerned that you won't. You will be given your own rooms, of course, a suite for you to share, and we have decided on something that you will not like, but that is necessary."

"We want you to stay away from one another outside of Slytherin." Jeran continued at their questioning looks, and both shot up out of their chairs when he voiced that command.

"_What?_"

"Only until our Lord returns." Jeran had continued, not that it had calmed them whatsoever. "Dumbledore remembers all too well what happened after the last Malfoy-Zabini…partnership in that school, and we do not want him watching you too closely."

"Fuck that stupid mudblood-lover." Blaise spat, his eyes infuriated and growing ever darker. "I will not deny myself my best friend's company just to appease that old fool's suspicions."

"You _will_." Jeran said, meeting his son's eyes and holding them, which most would not have been able to do. "And you will both wear glamours until that time, as well."

"Glamours?" Draco questioned incredulously, one hand unconsciously going to his long, silver hair. "Glamours and separation? Are you bloody _mad_?"

"It's only during the day that we ask this of you." Lucius replied, elegant fingers twirling a sharp letter opener absently. "And as two, you will be able to hear more than you could as one."

"But we _are_ one, goddamn it!" Blaise argued, swatting the letter opener from his hand irritably. "What you ask is impossible!"

"Keep your link open, and it will get you through it." Jeran said neutrally, a small bit of sympathy showing in expression.

"How would you know?" Draco snapped, reaching the end of his already limited patience. "You faced no such trial, did you? And it is different for us still, and you know it."

"I am aware of the differences, but it changes nothing. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle will stay with you, Draco, and Anton and Theodore will stay with Blaise. And Lucius has another task solely for you."

"Well, doesn't this just get better and better?" Draco asked sarcastically, turning to glare at his father. "Well, go ahead. Next you're going to tell me that I have to be nice to Potter if he actually shows up."

Silence.

"Oh, you have to be fucking _kidding_!" He exclaimed, his hands balling into fists as several vases flew off a nearby shelf and smashed into the far wall, quickly followed by a heavy marble bust of Cleopatra. He could feel his emotions shutting down one by one, and a glance at Blaise let him see that wood was cracking under his friend's fingers, the edge of Lucius's desk being reduced to dust and splinters.

"Actually," Jeran said carefully, "you _both_ have to be civil. But _you_ have to try and befriend him."

"Ohhhhh, you know what?" Draco seethed through clenched teeth, spinning and facing them again. "You can go fuck yourselves. This is the stupidest shit that I've ever heard. _Befriend_ Potter? Potter, the one who stole our Lord away? Potter, the _halfblood_? Have you fed today or is this some weird fucking vampire lapse that we've failed to encounterso far?"

"Our decision stands." Lucius said, a note of finality in his voice, and Draco and Blaise shared an enraged moment in each other's mind before turning their backs on their fathers for the first time in their eleven and a half years, speaking not so much as a word as they stalked from the room.

They arrived early and separately to catch the train, though as soon as they utterly ignored their parents long enough for them to give up and leave, they sought each other out. Locking themselves up in an empty compartment with Pansy, Anton, Melody, Daphne, Sebastian and Theodore, they only reluctantly let Crabbe and Goyle in when they practically beat the fucking door down looking for him. Apparently, they were under strict orders to obey his every word and not let anything happen to him. Anton and Theodore had received speeches much the same, but they were actually friends of theirs, and possessed more than five brain cells between themselves.

They stayed a while, catching up on what they'd done over the summer and promising to show each other new hexes and curses once they were safely in the walls of their House. Macmillan stopped by not long after, as his father had most assuredly told him to, and they wondered when the boy's family would just realize that he was hopeless. They best they could hope for was a child from him that came out better than he had, because he was _beyond_ a lost case. He sat down between Crabbe and Goyle stiffly, looking from one to the other with more than a bit of fear, but not nearly as much as he directed at Draco and Blaise.

"You look different." He said after a few false starts, and they nodded the barest bit, their minds on other things.

"Yes, yes, fucking glamours."

"Leave them alone, Macmillan." Anton said brusquely, hazel eyes narrowing to slits. The boy gulped and sat back, nearly lost in between the mountains of flesh that were Crabbe and Goyle, and Pansy gave him a condescending smile.

"You'd better get into Slytherin, Macmillan, or your sisters might not ever speak to you again. Not to mention what your Housemates will say if you get sorted into Gryffindor or Ravenclaw and they remember seeing you in here with us." She said lightly, and they all watched with satisfaction as he turned slightly green. Hurriedly making his excuses, they were rid of that presence soon enough, and their friends' attention turned back to them.

"So, is it true?" Pansy asked hesitantly, her eyes flicking between Draco and Blaise in nervous disbelief. "They're separating you?"

"Yes." Blaise hissed, a nasty sneer twisting those full lips. "I'm surprised Father didn't ask me to try for Hufflepuff at the rate they're going."

"And I have to go make friends with Potter." Draco said distastefully, standing and almost hurting something when his new cronies rose to flank him. That was going to get real old, real fast. "Excuse me, let me correct myself. I'm _supposed_ to go make friends with Potter. I'll be back after the monumental failure that I can ensure this will be."

And, surprisingly, when he returned twenty minutes later with a bleeding Goyle, having gotten to insult a Weasley and start quite the good rivalry between himself and that Potter buffoon, he was actually in a much better mood, as they all noticed by the evil grin spread across his face. Recounting the incident, he felt quite pleased about it all. No matter what his father said, he would _not_ be friends with that halfblood, Gryffindor-bound idiot. The train ride was over soon enough, and he sat quite miserably in a boat without Blaise, listened to McGonagall prattle without Blaise, and lined up for the Sorting Hat without Blaise. Life had certainly gotten shitty.

One highlight was Macmillan getting sorted into _Hufflepuff_ of all things (his family was going to disown him if they had any pride at _all_), and even better, the Hat barely brushed Draco's hair before screaming '_SLYTHERIN!_' and practically jumping off. Like there had been any other option. Sitting beside Crabbe and Goyle, his eyes followed Blaise down the line where he waited at the very end, barely noticing the other students get sorted, even Potter, who became a bloody Gryffindor, as expected. Then, finally, it was Blaise's turn, and he sat upon the stool gracefully, barely letting the worn wood touch him.

It was the same scene for him, the lightest brush of the Hat over the top of his hair, before '_SLYTHERIN!_' was screamed once more without the slightest bit of hesitation, and the Hat repelled itself away. Blaise met his eyes, triumph floating contentedly within them, the joy of the moment only ruined when he started to sit by Draco, just to have Pansy hiss a reminder at him and grab his elbow, leading him a few spots down and sitting him next to her and Daphne. The Slytherins that didn't yet know of their forced separation looked at them oddly, as if they couldn't quite believe that they weren't glued together as they always were.

They got used to it, though, and the weeks and months flew by at night when they were in their House, _together_, and then crept by during classes, when they'd be mere feet from each other and not able to speak a word except in vague passing. It ate at him, bugged him constantly like an itch that couldn't be scratched, especially when they'd gotten the letters from their fathers about Quirrell. They'd had to wait all fucking day to talk about it, marveling over the fact that their Lord was in the very castle with them, and yet they had not felt him. They'd immediately gone to Snape as their letters said to do, and he'd fed bullshit to Dumbledore and played his part.

But then Potter, the slimy little bastard, defeated Quirrell's useless arse at the end of the year, and they went home to a Manor full of enraged Death Eaters, which resulted in many muggles suffering their ire for weeks on end. Their fathers forgot about Draco's failure to befriend the moron, but they did not lift the ban on them seeing each other. And gods, it _galled_ to know that if they'd just quietly disposed of him one night, like the night Draco had been with him in the Forest, then their Lord would be back and the ban lifted. But when Draco had seen Quirrell drinking unicorn blood, he'd been under orders to report to Snape immediately.

Unicorn blood had not been part of the bargain.

But Quirrell was a bigger fool than Dumbledore by far, and the idiot had partaken of the sacred fluid from a _dead_ unicorn, which cursed the blood irredeemably. The only good thing was that _he'd_ drunk it, not Voldemort, who wouldn't have been so stupid. Of course, the Dark Lord hadn't objected, as the amusement factor was sure to have been quite high. But Quirrell had damned himself even in the dark gods' eyes, and he would regret that decision for a very long time to come. That didn't, however, appease Draco or Blaise in the least. They were more than tired of hiding and pretending, and it had only been a year.

They were not fun people to live with that summer at _all_.

_End Flashback_

He still wasn't sure if he'd ever really forgiven their fathers for those years that he and Blaise had been separated. Probably not. He wasn't very good at forgiveness, since most who crossed him died before that could become an issue, and he wasn't entirely sure that he even knew what it felt like. Perhaps he did in passing, like when the children made him want to show them the nastier side of the Menagerie from the victims' point of view, or when Virginia teased and teased until he and Blaise both snapped, forgetting that they were in a meeting, or on a public street, or any number of other places, in favor of reacquainting themselves with her sweet skin.

But there wasn't anything to _really_ forgive them for, since neither his Queen nor his Consort could ever really do anything that he wouldn't agree with on some level, as they were too much alike, too internally tangled with one another. And their children…well, their children were perfect little devils, and he liked them just fine that way. To say they were spoiled was redundant, but they were smart and clever and sly as well, vicious and deadly and cruel, and he loved each as much as the other for simple, yet somehow profound, reasons. Because when he looked at Cruoris and saw _his_ eyes staring back at him, his eyes surrounded by Virginia's hair, he was captivated.

And Corpus…Corpus was a mix of the two people that he had devoted the rest of his immortal life to, _that hair_ framing _those eyes_, and he was lost. Both knew that they had quite a bit of sway over their parents, but they also knew the limits, for a High Royal's temper, once awoken, does not discriminate in the same ways they usually would. They knew, because they themselves had it in them, so they stayed within the wide lines laid out before them, having seen what their parents were capable of enough times to not want their go with that feral, primal intelligence and mercilessness. They were anything but stupid.

And so were Lucius and Jeran.

_Begin Flashback:_

To try and soothe them when they first returned, their fathers gave them a diary, a very special diary. Their Lord's diary, actually, and they had quite a bit of fun with it in between bouts of making their parents feel like utter shit. Their mothers were finally turning on their fathers and saying that it wasn't fair, it wasn't _right_, to keep them away from one another so much at school. And, of course, that would be their cue to come in looking quite content and pleased until they purposefully looked up at them, cold masks sliding into place with long, familiar ease. This would be when their mothers started getting teary, since before the ban, their children had trusted them, which was not an empty word among people as dark and wild as they were.

But those masks spoke of lost trust and broken faith.

Their fathers would flinch the slightest bit, imperceptibly to anyone who didn't know them well, and they would start to speak when either Draco or Blaise or both asked a single question and no more. '_Have_ _you stopped this lunacy yet?_' And they would slowly shake their heads, ignoring their wives' obvious pain and fury, their eyes somewhere just above their sons' hair, as if they no more liked what they were doing than the others did. But that was impossible, for they apparently felt _nothing_ if they could torment two that had never been anything more than loyal to both and that shared such close blood-ties with them, as well.

So, with disgusted sneers and haughty hands, they would intertwine pale fingers and back out of the room slowly like cornered cats, never letting their eyes leave them or their backs turn to them. The first time they had done so, Silana had screamed, turning and shoving Jeran, knocking him into the roaring fireplace and then falling to her proud knees. He had just sat there, his eyes glowing oddly as the green flames had scorched robes and boots alike, though it didn't harm that long raven hair or the pale skin that had once been golden from the Italian blood he carried so thickly within him. Lucius had drug him out and turned to stop their sons, but they were no longer there.

That had been only days after they'd returned home, and they'd received the diary a night later. And granted, they enjoyed the present, as Tom was most interesting, but as smart as the decision had been, seeing as how they stopped being so aggressive towards guests and such, it did not warm their hearts enough to…forgive. And it was even harder to forgive when almost every person they knew was on their side, even the adults, although they stayed silent. Their friends didn't though, murmuring late at night when curled up in the huge bed they all usually shared, saying that it was wrong to keep them apart, that their fathers didn't truly see the strain it caused.

Because from their first night in their new House, they had monopolized the ruling of it, even at age eleven. And the older students wisely backed down when one or the other spoke, because of their names and because of what they glimpsed inside them, for they had long known them through family connections and social events, and they had no wish to die. They had seen Blaise shoot the Killing Curse at eight, simply because he had been greatly annoyed, they had seen Draco throw a dagger in the blink of an eye, hitting a living target across a crowded room, and they had seen much more besides. Their pride knew its limits.

Their pride knew when to kneel.

And Draco and Blaise, they knew how to play power games, and play them smoothly rather than foolishly. So when the seventh years had dropped to their knees that first night and willingly handed over control of Slytherin House to the heirs of the bloodlines that they owed their allegiance to, Draco and Blaise had accepted, of course, but they had also made them a deal. The seventh years could govern as they saw fit, as they would have had the two of them not started school that year, and as long as they didn't fuck up or do anything major without telling them, then they wouldn't have any problems. It did wonders for gaining true respect.

Because even though the Slytherins knew who truly ruled, it looked better for the older students to mostly dictate outer-House relations, and the fact that Draco and Blaise understood that fact and worked around it rather than weakening their House's front was widely admired. They found it all too easy to make people adore them and fear them all at the same time, and desire was already on that list as well, though none of the older students would have dared without a direct summons, which they weren't likely to receive. And because of their control over their Housemates and their dark, bewitching effect on them, Pansy spoke true when she said that.

Because their fathers knew, in the abstract, what it was like. But they didn't know that Draco and Blaise's agitation seemed to leak from them, spreading from pureblood to pureblood unbeknownst to most, and it was definitely causing a strain. But their fathers didn't much seem to care, and a rift had opened, growing larger over the school year until when they'd come back, that misplaced trust wasn't nearly as much of an act as they would have liked. Because that first time, when they'd been told no, it had been remarkably easy to stop feeling _anything_, like slicing the head off of a well-loved pet just to prove that you could.

But they had not done it then for proof. They had done it because they had found, to their disquiet, that the men across from them had looked like strangers. And strangers could not be trusted, no matter how like you they appeared. Which is why they never told them of what had happened their second day back, when they had gone to Knockturn Alley with Severus and the Romanian witch he'd been fucking that week. He'd gone off with her…somewhere, and they'd picked around, trying to find something, _anything_, that was new or even relatively interesting in any way, mostly just enjoying the freedom to go without their glamours.

But those had had to be replaced soon enough, as Blaise suddenly had a fierce urge for ice cream, which was one of the few things you couldn't get in Knockturn Alley if you knew the right people. So they'd donned the damned glamours again, stalked out into the nightmarish sunlight, and ignored the three werewolves and the veela that were flanking their movements, flicking from rooftop to rooftop above them, unseen by everyone else. Blaise had gotten his ice cream _and_ gotten horridly sticky in the process, since he said that it ruined 'the experience' if you cast charms to keep it frozen in the sunlight. Draco had helped him clean up, of course.

Blaise and chocolate positively _demanded_ serious attention.

Having retreated to Madam Malkin's, a shop that their fathers owned, they had nodded to the lady herself before disappearing into their fathers' office. To her credit, she didn't look the least perturbed at the sight of them carefully cradling dripping ice cream cones and snickering as they fell through the door, Blaise's vicious tug on Draco's robes all the affirmation she needed to know what was occurring. She had known them for their entire lives, had watched them grow, and knew exactly what kind of environment they thrived in. She was a pureblood herself, after all, and one of enough worth to know how the dark circles lived.

So when they'd emerged an hour or two later, still snickering and straightening velvet robes that she herself had made, faint chocolate stains on places that she was sure there hadn't been any before, she'd merely smiled and asked if they'd be needing anything that day. Not bothering with pretenses or appearances as they shook their heads and flashed her wicked smiles, she wondered if they were at odds with their fathers, since they usually paid more care to their actions when in the lighter wizarding sections of their world. They knew all this because they could see it, as they always saw through everyone.

It was usually both an informative and disappointing gift.

And while they loved everything the night awoke within them, most people were either boring or trying too hard not to be boring. Thank the gods the dark ones were there to keep them sane, for there was always something at least mildly interesting about them. And leaving that shop, they had been surrounded by just the sort of people they hated. Making for the dark refuge of Knockturn Alley once more, they'd just made it past the shadowy border when Draco had seen a missed spot of chocolate on Blaise's throat, and the urge to lick it clean had been much too strong to resist. Slamming him into the nearest wall, he'd done just that.

"Draco!" Blaise had tried to hiss, but it came out sounding more like laughter than anything else. "Someone could still see us, you know."

"Well, let Lucius and Jeran explain to the Prophet why their twelve-year old sons know exactly how to get each other off." He'd whispered before his lips had closed over that alabaster skin once more, and Blaise had moaned before shoving him lightly.

"You're such a bastard."

"Right now, I almost wish I was." He'd said before really thinking about it, and Blaise had met his eyes swiftly, questioning and understanding all at once.

"Yes. But they will see their folly soon enough."

"Will they?" Draco inquired softly, his breath lost in Blaise's ebony hair. "And what will it take to make them see their error in parting us? Must one of us nearly perish for them to realize that they are wrong?"

He had no idea how true those words would prove to be.

"We still have the nights, and—"

Blaise had stopped abruptly, and Draco had felt his wonder through their link. Looking back over his shoulder, Draco had sought what had held him so enthralled. Or more like _who_. For there had stood a girl with hair like beloved blood, like the deepest of rubies spun into pure silk, corkscrewing past narrow shoulders to a slim waist, and her eyes…For the second time in his life, Draco Malfoy had found himself completely spellbound, this time by irises like dying embers, embers that he'd wanted to ignite and set aflame with hellfire and dark passion, with want and need unlike any ever seen before he'd discovered the one he had pinned to the wall.

The night within them howled.

And like a sensory rush, flashes of dreams and visions had sped behind their eyes, dreams that they had never spoken of aloud, for there had been no need to do so. And suddenly, they had _craved_, craved to have her and possess her and to make her theirs for always. The night had clawed at them, screamed at them, begged them to _move_, and they would have had she only looked away, because they were frozen in that so-shocked gaze she had leveled on them. Blaise's hand had tightened impossibly on Draco's hip, sharp nails digging through thick fabric, and Draco had leaned farther into him, feeling more than a bit dizzy and lightheaded.

'_Vermilion_ _and ash_.'

Then she was gone, swept away by what appeared to be twins, and both had stood completely dumbfounded for the first and only time they could recall. They'd never thought that the girl they had dreamed of was _real_, but she _was_, and something they couldn't, and didn't, want to understand had started twining within them. Their own bond had been solidified with their first touch of flesh on flesh so long ago, and they had been so young that it hadn't been questioned, just accepted. But they didn't know what was happening to them then, and they'd only been able to collect themselves when one of the werewolves had dropped down before them.

"Forgive me, young masters, but are you well?" He'd asked, bowing, his eyes frankly concerned. He'd guarded them most of their lives, and he genuinely cared for them, as a single, swift glance could easily tell.

They nodded, masks firmly back in place and a plan starting to form. They treated this new problem as they would any other. Three days of careful consideration later, a slow, but sure, conquest was laid out and ready to be set in motion. They had known who she had to be from the moment they had seen her, with the flaming hair and freckles, and the two twins they'd noticed later had confirmed it. Her being a Weasley was an issue, of course, but not one that couldn't be handled, and they actually saw it as a blessing, since a Weasley's return to the dark would be a most spectacular bonus. But first, prior conditioning had to be broken.

They were well aware of how she had to have been raised, and their lives would come as quite a shock should she simply witness them, especially at their best, or in her family's opinion, their worst. But the spark they had recognized within her couldn't be denied, and she would undoubtedly prove to already be much different than them. Perhaps not so different from the twins, since there had been something, however lesser, in them as well, but different from the rest. So it would take persuasion, and knowledge she wasn't allowed to learn, and it would need to come from someone or something believable.

And someone or something that preferably wasn't them. Because she needed to have already chosen a dark path for her to be the most susceptible to what _they_ could teach her, and a solution had come rather brilliantly to that problem. They would give her Tom. He agreed to help them, to tell her enough but not too much, as he wished to see a Weasley brought back into their fold as well. So later that summer, when it was time to go shopping for their school supplies, phase one was set into motion. Had their fathers released the ban, they might have told them their reasons that day, but as they hadn't, Draco and Blaise gave as much empathy as they got.

None.

A clipped request had their fathers' eyes widening over the table at the restaurant they'd been cornered into eating at, had them flashing briefly with pain, before the two wizards had collected themselves quite quickly and asked why they would want such a thing. Pointed, venomous glares had been their only replies, creating an uncomfortable silence that they were not accustomed to, and their fathers had dropped the subject, even though Draco and Blaise knew that they were more than curious as to why their sons would want Lucius to slip the Weasley girl Tom's diary. And they were hurt, hurt in a very basic way that even _they_ couldn't fully ignore.

It was the pain of a parent when shunned by their child, the pain of a parent when all that's reflected back at them from faces they've watched change daily for years is loathing and resentment. But that was as far as their sons looked into them, because they were wary to see deeper and find something that would change everything. Not betrayal, not really, but they feared seeing that their fathers didn't plan for the ban to ever lift, and if that were the case, then things would change irrevocably. It was one thing to hope that their fathers _did_ have some sort of reason for it besides 'Dumbledore's suspicion', and another to know that it would never end.

Because that would be quite…unacceptable, and if they were truly worried about what that old fool thought, then two things became much too clear. The first being that Dumbledore was unlikely to die anytime soon enough for their tastes, which meant that they would be hiding for years…and that just wouldn't do. And secondly, if their fathers had gone soft enough to worry about washed-out fucking _Light_ wizards' opinions, then it was time for them to start thinking about the duty they had to their bloodlines as the heirs. They had been born for ascension, to one day take their fathers' places, and if their fathers were weakening, doubting…

Then within a few years, they would have no other choice but to act.

But that was not a worry for then, and after a quick dealing with that oily Borgin fellow, Harry Potter's stink thick in the smoggy air and making every word they spoke a game, Draco and Lucius arrived at Flourish and Blotts in time to see Harry with that Lockhart fool. After meeting Virginia's eyes for the barest of moments, silent understanding flowing between them, he started a chain of events that would change the world irrevocably. He knew the diary would cause a stir no matter which way it went, but he didn't know just how _much_. He didn't know that the Fates spun new threads that day, threads thick and strong and different, dark and divine and royal.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" He drawled, and Harry looked up quickly, eyes wide. "_Famous_ Harry Potter can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page."

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" Virginia spat, glaring, and he wondered if he was the only one that could see the mirthful glimmer in her eyes. But no, the twins were looking at her, too.

"Potter, you've got yourself a _girlfriend_!" He shot back, and ohhh, she didn't like that at _all_, her cheeks heating and her glare becoming more real.

It was then that he realized just how stunning she would be in a few years.

Everything went smooth enough from there, Arthur giving Lucius the perfect opportunity to slip Virginia the diary after he attacked him. Draco almost wished his father hadn't been bound by his word to his son, as Arthur would have been going straight to St. Mungo's for that foolish move. Lucius was infuriated, his fists clenched tightly and his eyes iron gray, but Draco wasn't until he was a few feet out of the store. Hagrid's words drifted to his sharp ears, and a thirst for the half-giant's blood grew within him. '_Rotten_ _ter__ the core, the whole family, everyone knows that — no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter — bad blood, that's what it is_…'

And they called _them_ prejudiced!

Oh, Hagrid would pay very, very dearly for those words, and he could see it in his father's face, too. Perhaps Lucius wasn't going soft, after all. Perhaps he was just a fucking arse and wanted to see how much it would take for his son to snap and leave the family. But if that was it, his father should have known better than to use Blaise in his little game, because nothing _but_ Blaise could make him forsake his name and take the fortunes left to him by his grandfathers to get out of Europe altogether. And if this insanity continued with their fathers' minds hale and whole, then his sixteenth birthday would mark the first time a Malfoy had ever broken away from the family.

It would be a cold, cold day in the Halls of the Ancestors.

But he _would_, damn it, because he'd be more damned than he already was if he lived under such restrictions for much longer. He barely spoke three words to his father the rest of the holiday, and even less to Jeran, who'd always been like another parent to him. But no longer. They had always been taught that mercy was not a necessary trait, nor was compassion nor pity nor even love, but respect and devotion to your _family_, both blood-kin and those tied to you through dark magic, was of great importance. For they were all you had in a world filled with those who walked sightless, and they were the only ones that it was requisite to show kindness or affection to.

Yet they were being punished when they had not even done anything wrong, and their control over the night within them would not last much longer. And the night didn't give a shit about fathers or restrictions, didn't give a shit about appearance or duty. If held off much longer, something…unfortunate was bound to happen, and someone would almost assuredly die. That year was difficult because of it, but they enjoyed watching Virginia scrawl sentence after sentence in their diary, her eyes growing ever darker day by day. The twins, too, were taking on very shadowy edges, and soon after, their roommate did as well.

Their glee was farther intensified after the tryouts for Slytherin's open Seeker position, which Draco had easily acquired. Flint hadn't had any doubts to begin with, having played with him numerous times out of school, but after Draco had caught the Snitch four times in less than twenty minutes, it was official and none of the Slytherins doubted the choice. Lucius had come himself that night, sliding through the fire with eight brand-new broomsticks under his arm, which had sent the Slytherin team into near-ecstatic convulsions. The last had been for Blaise, who refused to be anything but a Beater, and was therefore waiting for Bole and Derrick to leave school.

Everything had been quite perfect afterwards, rubbing it in the Gryffindors' faces and, of course, the Weasel making himself throw-up slugs. But then…then a letter came, eleven days later and bearing the Malfoy seal, and he knew, from the moment that he touched it, that he would not like its contents. And oh, he _more_ than disliked what he read; he _hated_ it. Hated it in a way he had rarely hated anything, and he wasn't the only one. Blaise hated it, the rest of the team hated it, Severus positively fucking _loathed_ it, and their mothers had actually left their fathers, going to Silana's mother's mansion in Iceland.

Because they decreed that he was to win, but not against Potter.

Rage and fury weren't strong enough words for the atmosphere in their common room that night, the entire House spread out on silk and velvet cushions, words of rebellion and resistance dying just before they spilled from pure lips, and he knew that his sixteenth birthday would be a freezing, bloody dawn, indeed. No one spoke for hours, everyone thinking the same thing. '_There_ _is something very wrong with Lucius and Jeran_.' They knew it, but they did not voice it, not yet. Not until they had more proof, not until the heirs to those bloodlines were even just a year older, old enough to rule by their mothers' sides until their majority.

After the silence stretched and twisted and screamed in the absolute void of any sound but for the torches along the walls and their almost imperceptible breathing, Draco stood, every eye turning to him as he balled the letter up in one fist and threw it in the flames. Then the glamour he'd still been enfolded in slowly melted away, revealing hair of molten mercury that hit his hips and eyes that could make a Dementor think twice. He was almost shaking from the need to hurt something, himself or someone else, and he'd slammed his fist through the marble mantle before he even thought of moving. His thoughts slowly focusing, he pulled a hand covered in fine dust from the hole.

And his Housemates recalled, once again, why it was wise to fear him.

"I will do as he says." Draco hissed into the silence, and they jumped as if cursed. "For now."

"And later?" Blaise asked indolently, the only one who looked even mildly in control of himself. But he wasn't, Draco knew that, felt that, and he knew that Blaise was reaching the point of not wanting to wait any longer. Their fathers' actions started to reek of duplicity and lies more and more often, and if they didn't think that their sons knew they were full of shit over this Dumbledore business, then they really had fucking cracked up.

"Later," Draco sneered as the bones in his hand re-knit, "later we will know their reasons, and make a decision from there. I thought they knew better than to make us their enemies, but they seem to be trying awfully fucking hard. And if they have betrayed us," he spoke what no one else but Blaise would dare, "then I am not adverse to kin-slaying."

The tension eased knowing that they would not stand idly by forever.

Resolute and furious, they survived the year by watching their plan progress even better than hoped for, as _three_ Weasleys and a Jordan were returning to the dark, not just their little vermilion vixen. And they had a spot of fun with her, too, when Valentine's Day rolled around. They'd heard her moronic brother spewing some drivel to Granger about Virginia marrying Potter one day, saying he knew Harry liked her, and they had decided to nip that right in the bud. Cornering a Hufflepuff, they'd told her quite simply to write the stupidest, most _Hufflepuff_ thing she could about loving Harry Potter. Her tears had smeared some of the words, but they were readable enough.

Potter's face was priceless when that first line spilled out. '_His_ _eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad_…' Virginia's grimace was quite classic, but it turned into horror when Draco scooped up Tom's diary. Infuriated, he almost accused Potter of stealing it, before he'd seen the answer in those charcoal eyes. She, for some reason, wanted him to have it, probably because Tom wished to talk to him. Expressionless, he taunted Potter as if he thought it was his diary, and didn't stop his elementary _Expelliarmus _when he tried to get it back. Looking appropriately angry, he sealed the end of anything remotely possible happening between their Virginia and that halfblood.

"I don't think Potter liked your valentine much," he called as she passed him to enter her classroom, and her eyes flickered to him in disbelief for a split second before realization sunk in and she covered her face with her hands.

"Oh my fucking gods." He heard her mutter before she disappeared inside, her tone dismayed and satisfyingly revolted.

Always watching, they knew when she got the diary back and her lessons continued. So they slowly, but surely, gained four purebloods of old lines back into their fold instead of one, though they would have been perfectly content had it only been her, as they had only taken an interest and then acted in order to win her in the first place. But it was always rewarding when plans drew in such bonuses; just as it was rewarding to trick the tricksters when Potter and the Weasel hadn't known that he could sense Polyjuice at work in a heartbeat. Baiting them was entirely too much fun, as was confusing them heartily about the heir's identity.

Yes, Tom had told them his fee for helping them.

And what did they care if he and Virginia played with a snake at the expense of useless mudbloods? And play they did, although, quite disappointingly, no one died. But Hagrid got shipped to Azkaban and Dumbledore removed from the school, and that had definitely been a good night altogether. But then…Oh, they could have killed Potter when they felt the diary's destruction, and distantly, Virginia's anguish. Their Housemates had scattered before their fury that night, even Anton and Pansy retreating to the far side of the common room, and it had surpassed even the communal fury of nights after Gryffindor-Slytherin matches.

It was salt in already-festering wounds.

They spoke not a word to their fathers all summer, staying at Morte Nera only a week before they packed up and left for Iceland without leaving so much as a note behind. Their fathers had come to find them, of course, but for the first time, they were barred entrance, '_by_ _the young masters' orders_'. And surprisingly, they had left after asking only one question. '_Will_ _they ever come home?_' And to that, the servants had told them what they had been instructed to say. '_Only_ _when you lift both bans_.' And truly, Draco and Blaise didn't have much time for anymore thinking on them, because their hands were full with planning Sirius's escape. He would be the first of many.

Late that July found them on broomsticks, a mile off the coast of Azkaban Isle, the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean rough and choppy ten feet beneath them. Draco and Blaise sat mounted and cloaked next to their mothers and four of their uncles, awaiting the black dog that would soon be joining them. Dementors, when paid with an innocent enough soul, will turn a blind eye once a century for a person they deem dark enough. Narcissa Black-Malfoy was just that. And she had not paid with one unsullied soul, but three. Twenty minutes later, the dog came paddling into view, ice coating its fur and its limbs shaking so badly that it could barely stay afloat.

Warming spells were a blessing at times.

Swooping down the short distance, Draco, being the least effected by the numbing water, scooped his mother's cousin out of the water by the ruff of his neck, and Sirius managed to change back to human form and straddle the broom. But that was all, as he was much too weak and frozen through besides, and his wandless warming spells to keep him alive during the swim had completely drained what little strength he'd had. But Draco was anything but drained, and his warming spells stayed thick and strong, enveloping Sirius like an invisible, wavering blanket, and he was dry in an instant and croaking a raspy thanks.

Wrapping his arms around Sirius's waist, he didn't even really need to use any supernatural strength to keep Sirius safely in front of him, which was testament in itself to how light he was. It was the first time he'd touched him since he was a very small child, and the instant recognition of Black blood to Black blood was a bit dizzying, but passed soon enough. The next few weeks were spent planning and recuperating, and hairs were saved from Sirius's head when he was still thin and wasted, as they would be needed to cover up the once-again healthy man in the future. He recovered quickly enough, and agreed to win Potter's trust in his quest to kill Wormtail.

Their third year was spent sneaking him in Slytherin's wards at night and helping him scan the castle for Wormtail, the little traitor, whose presence they could sense, though he never left Gryffindor Tower. It was also spent in the company of Remus Lupin, whom Sirius had practically begged them to contact in the beginning of the year. They'd stayed after class one day, bending the ban more than a bit just by being in one another's presence outside of Slytherin, and had simply requested that the raggedy werewolf tutor them that night. Looking surprised, he'd asked, with the knowledge of a dark pureblood, just what he could possibly teach a Malfoy and a Zabini.

Smirks had been his only reply.

Needless to say, he'd nearly fainted when he'd walked into the Potions classroom, the only place they could all agree upon as long as Severus stayed away, and had seen the huge black dog sitting at their feet. Frozen for long moments, tears racing unheeded down his pasty cheeks, he'd whimpered before thawing and leaping at Sirius, who'd shifted back and embraced him almost tightly enough to break bones. Leaving them to their reconciliation, Draco and Blaise had stood guard outside, lost in the shadows and making sure that none disturbed their 'uncle' Sirius, as they had always called him, since he was a sworn brother of both their mothers.

So, many nights were spent moving between them and Severus in a never-ending dance of pretty words and soothing ruffled feathers. And speaking of ruffled feathers…the hippogriff incident was quite amusing, if he did say so himself. The eagle part disliked him anyway, since cats and birds rarely got along, but add a lazily chosen insult…Well, he'd said Hagrid would pay, and if shedding a little blood could cause that oaf misery, then so be it. He liked watching his blood run, anyway. It felt…sublime. And his act nearly had the mongrel in tears, so worried was he about losing his job. Because he knew, as well as most, that people always suffered when a Malfoy bled.

And oh, Hagrid suffered, all right.

Because Lucius was positively furious, as Draco quite conveniently failed to mention that he had deliberately done it for that very reason, and when he got in such a state, his revenge became colder, crueler. So he didn't go after Hagrid's job; no, he hit where he knew it would hurt the softhearted idiot the most. The hippogriff. Draco stayed mostly silent about the paperwork already going through different Ministry channels, and acted like a wounded martyr just to piss Potter off even more, which was always entertaining. But _that_ Gryffindor was the least of his worries, two others ranking much higher on his list of importance.

The first, of course, being Virginia, whose darkening progress they watched with patient eyes, knowing that in another few years, the darkness would have solidified within her enough, the night _becoming_ her as it had with them, for her to slide easily and gracefully into their lifestyle, should she choose to do so. The second was Pettigrew, who couldn't hide in Gryffindor Tower forever. Oh, that little shit would scream for months for his attempted betrayal, for trying to run to Dumbledore and confess. That confession would have sentenced hundreds more to Azkaban, including Draco and Blaise's parents, but Sirius had stopped him, damning himself in the progress.

But he'd always known his family would free him.

And Pettigrew had known that to reveal himself after that to either side would get him imprisoned at the _very_ best. But Sirius would not so easily forgive one that he had considered a friend, one that had cost him twelve years of his life. And they would never forgive him either, for he had tried to betray their people and had forced them to grow up only knowing Sirius from in between seven feet of spelled glass. And then, at the end of the year, it all came to a head. The hippogriff was to be Macnair's next assignment, Sirius had found Wormtail, and Harry Potter ruined it all, as usual. He was going to suffer a most excruciating demise at their hands one day.

One day preferably _soon_.

_End Flashback:_

And Potter's fate most certainly _did_ end up in their hands, and they had made the most of it. Nothing ordinary for _him_, oh no. But a slight ripple drew his thoughts away from that joyous experience, and he watched Corpus disappear under the surface, only to reappear next to him shortly afterwards, her red curls plastered to her face along with a smirk. She might not be blood of his blood, but she was blood of his beloveds' blood, and that was more than enough for him to utterly adore her. So he didn't protest when she wrapped her hand in his hair and pouted down at him, her pretty face scrunched up and her eyes mischievous.

"So she got you, did she?" She asked, looking towards the water all around them. "Funny how it seems to know when to plague you with memories and visions and when not to, hmm?"

Refusing to speak gibberish, he simply nodded.

"She hasn't been so bad about this in what now, almost a hundred and fifty years? Not since you started your super-secret project that's kept you all obsessed for _ages_. And don't even think it, I know I've helped, but I'm not nearly as bad as you three, and neither is Cruoris."

He had to agree with her there.

"It really is quite brilliant, though. Okay, it's beyond brilliant, but I've come to expect no less from you, you know. And this…well, you saw how excited Mother was, and papa's more driven than I've ever seen him, as are you. It must be killing you to lay here."

Well, he'd always known she was perceptive.

"Only someone like you three could come up with something like this. I mean, when mother said that rhyme so many years ago, I never suspected it would birth what it has. I always knew of your drive for ambition and power, hell, I _feel_ it and possess my own as well, but…"

But _what_, darling one? Damn the Pool's waters!

"But you," she started again slowly, as if she had heard his thoughts, "you just have to conquer even the stars themselves, don't you?"

Then her lips were on his, and that took a moment to sink in fully.

_Corpus_ was kissing him, _truly_ kissing him, and he was kissing her back almost automatically, his mouth moving on a different level than his mind and devouring her own until she was moaning and pressing closer against him. Reality finally kicked in through the water's haze, and he wondered what the fuck was going on even as she climbed on top of him, the water easily holding their weight at her will. Still she kissed him, and he kissed her, until he tasted blood and she ground against him, making him fully aware of the fact she was nude. Pulling back and stretching that lean, curving body like a cat, she looked a question at him through hooded, smoky, familiar eyes.

And for once, he was clueless as how to proceed. For about half a second, anyway, until she took the decision from him and impaled herself on him with one swift movement, drawing a scream from both that had the Dark Knights closing in from overhead, though he was only fractionally aware of anything but her heat. Clarity came with that first thrust, the dark clarity that he had always received when opening fully to the night, and there were no more doubts as the water released him enough for him to rise up and grab her roughly, taking control and dragging scream after scream from that beloved throat, Virginia's throat, and making those eyes, Blaise's eyes, glaze with pure ecstasy.

And there was no guilt, no hesitation, because sometimes…sometimes, you just realized that you were already so fucked up a little added depravity didn't matter anymore.

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(snickers) Bet you didn't see that coming! Now review or I shall throw my computer from a cliff!


	6. Deific King

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's _mine_, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

**Responses to Reviewers: tkmoore**, darling, you are the mightiest, most divine being ever -- but for the boys, of course – as always!** Sunday-Morning**,its reviewers like you that make my day. (gives you a silver star cause Gryffindor gold is ugly)** Haunted-Shadows**, LOL! omg, that had me cracking up! good to know I shocked you. (smirks) and just when are _you_ updating by the way?? (pouts)** sillysun**, exactly, you know me so well, lol! and thank you!! **otaku sae**, lol, glad you liked it! :P **AnitaBlake/BuffyFan**,thanks so much!love ya!**XnovemberX**, THANK YOU!!!!** bigreader**, damn, you know me too well! lol – and thanks for reviewing, as always!** MeghanBlack**, thank you so much! hope you like this chappie too!** Virginia Riddle-Malfoy**, thanks! and not in this one, but you very well may get your wish, lol!** mell8**, thanks, and you should get both if I stay on track! :) **childofoceans**, so…was that a good or bad 'oh my'? lol **gin rose raposo1**, sorry if it was confusing, and thanks!! **Flower4444**, well, go you! and it's okay, I'm sick too, lol. and thank you!! **entrancer**, Blaise's daughter. :P **Pia O'Leary**, sorry to have disappointed you, hope you like this one better. :) **Artemisgodess**, sorry if it squicked you out, but I never said this was gonna be fluff and roses, lol. **me**, calm down, they're not blood related, lol. and I doubt I will be anyway, so no worries. thanks for reviewing! **Aleurier**, riiiight. well, have fun in your deprived little world. and incest is when they're blood related, which corpus and Draco are _not_. how rude. (pouts)

**Author's Note: **I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?

**Author's Other (slightly annoyed) Note: **(sighs) For the love of all that's damned, people, _honestly_! Corpus is not Draco's daughter by blood, she's Blaise's. Therefore, it's not _technically_ incest. If it still squicks you out, I'm sorry, but I warned you that this was not your typical 'F&I' fic, so please don't bother me with explaining just _how_ it squicked you out, alright? And really, if you're still reading this, then we shouldn't have any problems, hmm? Wonderful.

Now, on with this depraved bit of lunacy that keeps spewing forth from my fingertips.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Come on, love, wake up." Draco vaguely heard a voice calling, but he knew it wasn't calling to him at the moment, and he was content to lie still before the water took him under its spell once more.

"Papa?" A sleepy voice answered from beside him, and the water shifted as she did.

"Oui. Go on, firefly, return to your chambers and rest. I'll stay with him."

"But it is not your t-turn yet. And I am n-not tired." She said, yawning, and lyrical laughter was the only reply, rippling as the ebony water rippled, entrancing as it entranced, and she mumbled in agreement before slipping under the surface and swimming to the edge still half-asleep.

A familiar form wrapped around his, silky hair falling over his face and chest like wet spider webs, and both stayed still as something underneath them rose to touch them briefly before sinking back into the Pool's depths, and it was followed shortly by another, then another…Growing tired of their attention, Draco felt his lover send out a silent warning and rebuke, and the hesitant, needing caresses stopped, the creatures reluctantly leaving them be. Unable speak more than disjointed words or obscure phrases, he simply twisted his fingers in that long hair and buried his face in a smooth, pale throat, breathing in a scent that had held him captive for years upon years.

"You are constantly full of surprises, beloved." Blaise said softly, tracing his fingers down Draco's chest and over the muscles of his stomach, to where the laces of his pants had been ripped open. "Were you anyone else, you would be dead." Amusement heavily laced that velvety tone, and Draco's lips curved into a smile.

And then he heard nothing but faded voices from a long-dead past.

_Begin Flashback:_

They barely even noted the passing of the next summer, even the Quidditch World Cup hardly interesting enough to note, and for once, even the sweet pleasure of torturing muggles seemed somehow unfulfilling, and they lacked any inspiration whatsoever. All they could see was another year of bans and boredom and bullshit, and they went back to Hogwarts with cold hearts and bad attitudes. They knew something was off about that Moody fellow, and they knew their fathers knew what it was, but they weren't talking, not that their sons had asked them, as that would have required speaking to them. So they followed him that first night, followed him into _their_ dungeons.

He went inside a small room, a disk in his hand that he used to talk to…_the Dark Lord?_ A deeper look into him had revealed all they needed to know. So, Crouch had escaped, had he? Interesting. And the Dark Lord was back again? Even more interesting. Their fathers had told them about this Crouch fellow before, about how Bella had loathed him from the moment they'd met, and how the Dark Lord had never liked him much either. They'd told them that he hated Lucius, hated him because of Jeran, whom he'd been quite infatuated with. But he hated Jeran even more after he'd publicly humiliated him at some function years and years ago.

He turned then, and Draco shoved Blaise back into another side passageway, warding the entrance quickly before that magical eye could spot the raven-haired boy. He looked too much like his father, and Draco wasn't taking any chances about the man's sanity, as he knew what Azkaban could do to people. That rolling eye settled on him, and those lips curled in a sneer, the disk disappearing. Draco saw the outer shell, the shell of the old, scarred Auror, and the true one, that of a stringy, ravaged-looking man with wild eyes. He saw the knowledge in Draco's own that the Slytherin didn't try to hide, and he stepped forward, apparently trying to be menacing.

It didn't work.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Professor _Moody_." He crooned, watching fury flash across that false, pitted face. "Whatever are you doing down in Slytherin?"

"That's none of your business, Malfoy, nor is anything you heard or anything your abnormal arse sees."

"Isn't it?" He asked, cocking one silver eyebrow and smirking. "Because I heard everything and I find it _most_ intriguing. Now get the fuck out of our dungeons."

"You can't order me around! I'm a professor here, and I can go anywhere I like, you insolent little shit!"

"Well, I'm not speaking as a student to a professor. I'm speaking as a Malfoy to a Crouch, and you will obey or you will be foresworn before the gods. Now, go!"

"You will pay for this." Crouch hissed, before spinning on a heel and stomping off down the hall.

Waiting until his footsteps had faded, Draco dropped the wards and braced himself to deal with an extremely annoyed Blaise. He didn't hear the end of that for over a day, not until Crouch made the stupidest decision of his, thereafter dramatically shortened, life. Granted, it was partly Draco's fault as well, since he should have kept his shielding at full power even in that den of weaklings and white witches. But there had never been a reason for more than abysmal shielding within those hallways, and he was more lazy than usual that day. So when Crouch hit him with a transforming spell packed with power, he was caught, for the first and last time, unaware.

Thank the gods his glamour spells stuck after he changed back, because he was a lot worse off than it seemed to most. Blaise nearly had a fucking heart attack, and then nearly committed murder right there in the open, only stopped by Anton, Pansy and four older Slytherins who had one hell of a time dragging him to Severus's office before he could draw attention to himself and cause quite a…bloody scene. But the other Slytherins were angry too, so angry, because they could see through Draco's glamours, and several waited inside the entrance to the dungeons for him when he and Crouch came through, their rage thick in the air.

Crouch laughed, laughed and turned down a side hallway, leaving Draco with them only half-conscious and swaying on his feet. He'd been able to halt the blood flow until he was away from so many sets of prying eyes, but he lost that hold then, and his Housemates very nearly panicked when blood starting streaming from his head in thick rivulets. His left arm was broken, his right kneecap shattered, at least five ribs had been crushed, and one of his lungs was punctured, causing him to spit up mouthfuls of blood that hadn't helped his friends' horror at all. Adrian Pucey tried to ask Draco if he would let him carry him without cursing him, but he couldn't talk.

The head injuries were the worst, he knew that, and nothing seemed to be working, not his lips nor his fingers nor his toes, and he slumped almost in slow motion, not even noticing Adrian mumbling frantic, rushed apologies as he scooped him up and bolted down the winding stairs, the other Slytherins on his heels. They met a completely discomposed and enraged Severus halfway to his office, but Draco could barely stay awake, let alone soothe his worries. And he had every reason to be worried, because if Draco couldn't concentrate long enough to fully merge with Blaise and heal himself, then they had serious problems.

And strangely, the night stayed utterly silent within him.

Or perhaps he was just too confused and dazed to let it in, perhaps he was unconsciously blocking its efforts, but he couldn't even think on _that_ long enough to reach a conclusion that made any sort of sense. His father and Jeran were there by the time they reached Severus's office, and both nearly exploded when they saw him. But their reactions were nothing to Blaise's, who'd been pacing the room like a caged cat. Springing forward, he lightly touched the blood seeping through silver hair and dripping on the floor, his indigo eyes misting over with a look that even Draco had never seen before, and he spun on their fathers.

"_Now do you see?_" His voice was low, carrying, acidic, and their fathers flinched the barest bit, while Blaise took Draco from Adrian as if he weighed nothing, and laid him carefully on one leather couch. He continued speaking as he started stripping the blood-soaked garments from his best friend, who would lay docile for him and only him, and Severus ushered the other Slytherins out before shutting the door. "If I had been at his side, that curse never would have hit, because I would have been watching his back as I am meant to do. But instead, I was across the hall thanks to your idiocy. Now will you lift this gods-forsaken ban?"

"We cannot." Lucius spoke quietly, even more so than Blaise had, and those sapphire eyes turned to him momentarily, full of contempt.

"Your son's near-death isn't enough for you to see that this is folly?"

"Yes." A pause. "We can see that now."

"Then _why_?" Blaise finally snapped, demanding an answer that they had so far left alone.

"We just cannot."

Closing his eyes, his face filled with disgust and the beginnings of hate, he ignored them and set to healing his best friend, not noticing their mothers and Sirius arrive, nor the repeat of the same argument with them. Draco vaguely felt Blaise reaching out to him, brushing his mind in a long-familiar way, and he was tempted to resist, to sink under the rising waves of blackness, death calling him like an irresistible temptation, but Blaise had never failed to reach him and never would. His call was sweeter than even that of the Reaper, a Siren's song of sinful seduction, and Draco responded, throwing their power together and finally hearing the night's furious rebukes.

"Oi, that fucking hurt." He groaned when his body was done suffering the assault of so much serious healing all at once. Apparently, he _had_ been blocking the night, and it was not pleased with him in the least, acting like a wounded lover. Honestly, it's not as if he'd done it on purpose.

"Are you alright?" Lucius called softly from the chair he had sat in at some point, but Draco tactfully ignored him. Sirius rushed over with Severus and their mothers, the two dark-haired men for once forgetting their feud, and they knelt around him on the couch as he sat up, running hands over him to make sure that he was hale once more.

"Are you alright?" Sirius repeated his father's question, and to him, just to be spiteful, Draco delivered a dazzling smile.

"I'm fine, uncle. You worry too much."

"'_Worry_ _too much_'?" Sirius gaped. "You—"

"It's useless." Narcissa cut in, brushing a lock of bloody hair back off of Draco's face. "He never listens, and he's obviously in a mood. Not that I blame him." She shot a nasty look at her husband and his best friend.

"'Cissa, I've told you—" Lucius started, but she held up one slender, graceful hand.

"There is nothing you have to say that I wish to hear unless it is that you have either decided to finally end this…whatever it is that you're doing, or that you're at least going to fully explain. Until then, I do not wish to listen to a single word from either of you." She said coldly, and Lucius nodded shortly, looking away and shutting his mouth firmly, which had her glaring. Before she could say anything more, Blaise spoke, his low voice seeming loud with the gravity of his words.

"I will play your little game." He said, looking at Jeran and taking Draco's hand in his. "But only for another year and a half, for I wish to leave the family when we turn sixteen. I'll take only what's rightfully mine, of course, and it is your decision whether to try for another heir or not. All I ask is that you accept this quietly and do not try to stop me, for if you stand in my way, I will kill you."

The last was said evenly, emotionlessly, and completely honestly. Silana looked crushed and infuriated, spinning on Jeran and spitting out several choice words in Old Gaelic and French, and Narcissa looked to Draco, fear in her husky-like eyes. But that fear didn't stop him from saying the same to his own father without the slightest bit of hesitation. Then neither said anything else, not bothering to look and see if their fathers were affected, because they simply couldn't care anymore. Eventually only Severus and Sirius were left, and both sat silently for a long while, before their mouths opened and they spoke in unison.

"You could become Blacks…"

"You could become Snapes…"

They glared at each other.

"As if they would pick the Snape name over mine!"

"And why not? I've practically _raised_ them—"

"Oh, and that's really _my_ fault! You'd be in Azkaban if it wasn't for me, spy-boy, and—"

"Shut up!"

Both grew silent once more.

"Fucking _really_, can't you two grow up?"

They stayed silent and slightly sheepish, while Draco and Blaise stayed annoyed and more than angry.

Two nights later, their foul moods ceased for a time, as they were presented with something that couldn't fail to amuse even them. Parvati came creeping through the entrance to the Slytherin common room, her hands knotted into her robes being the only outward sign of her anxiety, and she came to where they sat on the second level, stopping before them and nervously running one manicured hand along the edge of the table their books were spread out on. She opened and closed her mouth once, twice, yet no words came forth, and she looked at the floor before turning her eyes back up and giving them a wry, embarrassed smile.

"What is it, Parvati?" Blaise asked impatiently, his attention mostly on the scroll before him that he was filling with his elegant scrawl, translating a Mongolian book of necromancy into flawless Latin.

"Well, I…I mean—" She tripped over words, and Draco finally regarded her with mild interest, since she was usually much more composed then this. "I mean…oh hell."

"Yes, do get on with it." Blaise said with a small wave of one pale hand, and she nodded slowly.

"I've brought you a bloodline to restore." She said, and then stepped back as she had their instant, full attention boring into her through eyes going dark and primordial, hungry and driven.

"Which bloodline?" The question was a command, and she took another step back, her legs hitting the railing circling the balcony.

"The…The Longbottom line."

Interesting. With their leave, she went back outside before pulling Neville in by his robes, which caused him to trip over his own feet. He fell through the entrance, landing in a crumpled heap on the emerald rug, and laughter broke out through the common room, making the Gryffindor's cheeks heat as he pulled himself up. To do so, he braced his hand on the wall, only to make it halfway up before the stone realized that whatever was touching it wasn't Slytherin and sucked the limb in like a piece of spaghetti, solidifying again and holding him trapped up to his shoulder. He started shrieking, beating at the wall with his other fist, his face turning purple.

It was suddenly very hard to breathe as laughter consumed them.

"Looks like you're stuck here now!" One of the younger Slytherins called out, throwing an ink well that hit Longbottom's other shoulder and shattered, shimmery green ink splattering all over his face and robes. His struggling ceased and he turned his head away, his shoulders starting to shake. More objects flew with quick precision, potion ingredients and candles and chess pieces, and even a shrunken head that latched onto him with rotten black teeth, cackling as it tried to gnaw its way through his robes. That had him screaming again, performing a strange, swatting dance with one arm and nearly braining himself on a torch bracket.

"Stop!" Someone cried out above the mocking laughter. "Stop, I said!"

And the Slytherins did stop, because that was the voice of one of their own.

"Fucking hell! Why must you always be so goddamned _heartless_!?" Millicent broke through the jeering circle that had formed around Longbottom, ripping off the shrunken head, while her Housemates stared in blatant shock for a moment, before all emotion melted away, leaving them expressionless and cold in a single, controlled second. Pansy stood from where she'd stayed seated by the fire after a glance from Blaise, and the others parted for her instantly as she made her way to the front of the circle.

"And just what has suddenly given _you_ a heart, dear Millicent?" She asked, stepping from behind Adrian and tapping her wand absently against her thigh. Many backed away as they saw that slender piece of spalted maple, but Millicent stood her ground, though her eyes became very wary, never leaving that length of wood. "Or should I say _who_?" That was punctuated by a disgusted look at Longbottom, who was dripping ink and blood and looking altogether pathetic.

"Leave it be, Pansy." Millicent said, lowering her voice.

"No."

"_Leave it be_, Pansy!"

"Answer the question." Draco said, standing from their table in the shadows and dropping over the railing, landing in their midst before most saw him move at all. Millicent paled, but did as she was told.

"I…care for him, alright?" Neville turned green. "I…forgive me, my lord."

Then she fell to her knees, her eyes lowering and her face falling as she awaited some punishment. Sneering, Draco ignored her for the moment, and spoke a clipped word in German, causing the wall to release Longbottom, who fell backwards and right on top of Millicent, knocking them both to the floor. They lay sprawled out at his feet for a moment, before Millicent scrambled up and back onto her knees, Longbottom clumsily following her lead, though he stayed a careful distance away. Draco couldn't decide between anger and mirth, and a whisper of displaced wind announced Blaise's presence at his back.

"Why are you here?" He asked, and Longbottom thankfully understood that he was addressing him.

"I w-want…er," gulp, "I w-wanted t-to…er…"

"Bloody hell. Just shut up."

And without another word, Draco let his eyes un-focus the barest bit, drawing on the night and looking _deeper_, past the skin and bones and into the heart, into that beating, pulsing fount of pure blood, and he knew everything he needed to. The boy was tired of being scared, tired of being weak and useless, and Parvati promised that if they would agree, then they could make him strong, confident…and possibly even feared. He would pay any price, any price at all; he would give his very soul for it, for it and for a place to belong. But they didn't want his soul; no, they wanted something else, something much more important.

"We will do what you wish." He said, his eyes refocusing on Longbottom's stricken face. "But we want something in return. Besides renewed blood oaths of loyalty between our lines, of course."

"B-Blood oaths? B-But my g-gran…"

"_You_ are the Longbottom heir." Blaise said, watching him through hooded eyes. "Not her." Neville nodded slowly, seeming as paralyzed as a bird before a serpent, his breathing erratic and his pupils dilated.

"W-What else d-do you want?"

Draco smirked and Neville shivered. "Why, your children, of course."

The rest of the year was mediocre at best, the Tri-Wizard Tournament offering only mild amusement, although they did enjoy having the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons in the castle, as all were pure and most were dark. They'd known many of them for ages, and they were better company than Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs by far. Except for one Gryffindor, whom they strongly suspected would be quite pleasant company, indeed. Another year and she'd be ready, they could feel it. So the time drug by, their magic and sex the only things that kept the Slytherins halfway sane, until the end of the year, when the miraculous happened.

Voldemort was back. And for real this time.

They felt the very moment of his true resurrection, felt it while the others stayed unaware and panicking over Potter's disappearance, and when Potter came back, they ghosted after him, sticking to shadows and staying silent as Crouch led him off into the school. They heard every word said inside that room from down the hall, and saw Severus, McGonagall and Dumbledore come not too long after. They watched Severus leave, listened to his whispered confirmation of success as he passed them, and Potter and Dumbledore appeared a few moments later, heading the opposite direction. McGonagall stayed alone with Crouch.

The time had come for revenge.

It did not take long to decide on what to do, and they went to the entrance hall, where Severus entered with Cornelius Fudge almost fifteen minutes later. Before the man could so much as scream, they pulled him off into a small room filled with old tables and chairs, and Severus followed after shooting them a disbelieving glare. Fudge struggled, of course, but he fell still soon enough when he saw who held him, looking between them and Severus with more than a bit of trepidation. Shoving him down into a chair, they marveled over how utterly pathetic the man was. Flitwick could have made a better Minister, but at least they owned Fudge.

"What are you doing?" Severus hissed, stalking up to them. "You can't abduct the Minister at Hogwarts!"

"Honestly, Severus." Blaise scoffed, rolling his eyes. "We're not bloody abducting him. We just need to call in a favor."

"A f-favor?" Fudge stuttered, his eyes wide as he took them in without their ever-present glamours, and they nodded. "F-For your fathers?"

"Sure." Blaise said evenly, mockingly. "The man you're going to see, the Death Eater, we don't like him much."

"In fact," Draco continued, letting his masks fall away and his eyes fill with a ferocious, primal light, "we want him dead."

Fudge whimpered. "D-Dead? I…I can't k-kill someone."

"But you do it everyday." Blaise argued, his own masks dropping and causing Fudge to start shaking, which was most gratifying.

"N-No…"

"Yes." Draco countered, moving closer, twirling a wand he hadn't needed in years between his fingers idly. "We know how many execution contracts you sign. Now we're simply telling you to sign another."

"W-What _are_ you?"

"Does it matter?"

"I—I don't know. You sp-speak of death so c-coldly…"

"And you do not? Do not play the righteous fool with us, Cornelius Fudge. We know who you are, we see who you are, and you don't lose any sleep over the things that you have done. We want Bartemius Crouch dead, his soul devoured and destroyed. Call in a Dementor."

"A Dementor?" His voice was suddenly steadier, and he sat up straighter. "And if I do this, one of my debts is gone, paid for?"

"Yes."

He nodded vigorously. "Could always say I feared for my life, I suppose. And this Death Eater, it has the Mark?"

"Of course." '_You_ _stupid git_,' was left unsaid but clear.

"And did you say _Crouch_? But Dumbledore said he—"

"Crouch Jr." They clarified, and the Minister's eyes widened.

"But—"

"Look, you really don't need the details. Just get the fucking Dementor here, and do it before Dumbledore's done with Potter. McGonagall guards him, but the Dementor won't give her time to resist if you give it the okay before you enter. Don't fuck this up, or you'll owe our families double."

"I won't."

"Then go."

They followed him and Severus, of course, trailed after them to the nearest floo, where Fudge summoned a Dementor to his side. He went back to wait for it, and thirty minutes later, the entrance doors opened and one swooped in, graceful and dark and oddly beautiful. It seemed to turn to them as it passed by, seeking them out in the shadows, just as the few they'd seen the year before always had. It looked as if it would have stopped, turned, come towards them, but Fudge called out impatiently and it continued forward, coating the hall in ice. They followed once more, followed until Fudge, Severus and the Dementor disappeared into the room holding Crouch.

McGonagall immediately started screaming, Severus started shouting for good measure, and Fudge began bellowing as well. Then the black-haired witch stormed out, absolutely furious, and Severus and Fudge followed, Fudge spitting orders at the Dementor to leave. They rounded the corner just as the Dementor glided out, and it did stop then, facing the alcove they were concealed in. Curious, never having been quite so close to one before expect on the train in their third year, they walked out to meet it, stopping a few feet away, delighting in its icy chill. It regarded them for a moment, before a brush along their mental shields had them cracking them open the barest bit.

'_Ssshan't__ bow now, little lordsss. Thee doesssn't yet posssesss the power to ensssnare me and mine._' A harsh, gravely voice hissed in their heads as it sucked in a rattling breath, tasting their essences. '_Thy isss misssing sssomething._'

Then it was gone, flying down the hall in the blink of an eye, and they looked at each other, unable to stop their victorious smirks. Leaving before they could be found there, they reached Slytherin before anyone else, the rest of the school still outside and only just starting to be let back in, as they could hear by the thundering echo of feet above them as they passed through the damp passageways. They slid through the wall and into their common room, immensely pleased with the day's turn out. Three years they had watched and done nothing as Potter played the hero, three years they'd sat by and let him win.

But not that year.

In a fit of good humor, they borrowed some Polyjuice from a suspicious Severus, since they didn't have any made, and on the train the day they returned home, they sleekly abducted three first year Gryffindors. The Imperius works wonders for fun, and the first years swallowed the potion without any complaint. They also went to Harry Potter's compartment without any complaint, starting a whole slew of shit while Draco and Blaise sat in the next one laughing quite hysterically. They thought the twins might have heard them, but if they did, they said nothing except for curses quite dark if you knew they were shaping the vowels differently than usual.

Pulling the Gryffindors in once Potter and crew had cursed the shit out of them and kicked them out into the hall, the twins disappearing inside after shooting awfully knowing glances at their compartment, they had been very nearly paralyzed with mirth for long minutes afterwards, especially when the first years had woken up. They'd tormented them for quite some time before finally casting memory charms when the train started slowing, and they were in good moods until they stepped off the train and came face to face with their fathers again. Using the well-worn tactic of completely ignoring them, they portkeyed to Iceland without a backwards glance.

Then they went to their Lord.

_End Flashback_

_'Lord', my arse_, he thought disdainfully. _Foul, scheming, treacherous fucking halfblood._ Fury had cloaked him for many years after that betrayal every time Voldemort was even so much as mentioned, and it had been made forbidden to speak of him early on. But that fury had dimmed, cooled, iced over and buried itself until his inner darkness could erode it into nothing but an unpleasant memory with soured edges. Almost two centuries had passed since they had killed the _mighty_ Dark Lord, and he hadn't thought of him in over eighty years. But now, with the resurgence of memory, the hate and rage returned, only to be soothed away by soft words and softer fingertips.

"Shh, mon un péché mortel. He was nothing, and we were only children. Think instead of our creation, of what our ambition has birthed. Think of something, anything but him, for he was only an irrelevance, and barely even that." Pretty words from pretty lips, words that smoothed over his ire but not much else, and both knew it. ((my deadly sin))

Because the Pool doesn't let go until it's ready, not even for the King.

_Begin Flashback:_

He remembered them writing to him, of course, and they were greeted like long-lost sons, Marked that very night before the first and second circles and once again ignoring their fathers. As their visit had been rather unexpected, since Lucius and Jeran had told their Lord they would wait a week or so before bringing them to him, the celebration to honor their entry into his ranks was still two weeks off. But that didn't stop the first and second circles from…entertaining themselves, and they went prowling that night, reveling in the freedom and unrestrained violence, reveling in the smell of thick, fresh blood and the scent of utter terror.

They came back to wine and music and dancing, to spice and flirting and fucking, and time blurred, their world nothing but shifting colors and pulsing heat, mad laughter and breathy moans. Stars glittered and streamed on the enchanted ceiling, haunting chords and deep drums slithered and pulsed through their veins, and the air was as sweet and cool as an autumn night, smelling of chamomile and cedar. Blaise's lips on his were warm for once, tasting of _Château Ausone Impériale_ and vanilla, soft as sin and twice as addicting, and the perfection of their melding was only ruined by a hand on his shoulder and a much-too-sober voice.

"Come, we must speak with you." Lucius said, and Draco slid from his grip, hissing at the contact. His father looked taken aback for a moment, before his face shut down and his eyes hardened. "Now."

"I will not take any more orders from you." Draco spat, meeting those cold eyes with his own. "Is what you've done already not enough? Must you come back to torment us some more?"

Lucius looked away. "It was not my wish to torment you." He said slowly, his words barely heard over the spectral, bewitching music.

"I care not for what you wish or do not wish." Turning away, his back still not fully towards his father, he started leading Blaise away. "I care not for you at all."

"Draco!" His mother said, shocked, one small hand over her mouth as she moved up behind Lucius. "You do not mean that!" She exclaimed, and he glared at her, noticing her positioning.

So she had gone back to him? Then fuck her, too. He started to say something when Jeran wrapped a hand around Blaise's upper arm and his best friend turned, striking out as he did so. Silana moved between them with veela speed, and even Blaise didn't have time to stop his fist before it made contact with her sculpted porcelain jaw, sending her slamming back into Jeran as bones broke under her son's strength. Had she not been what she was, her neck would have snapped. As it was, blood was already streaking down her face as Jeran caught her and stopped her from hitting the floor, and the music died off into nothing as the others stopped and stared.

"Shit!" Blaise reached for her, and then stopped, his eyes narrowing. "Why did you do that?"

But she couldn't answer, so Jeran did. "We talked and—"

"And she has joined you once again." Blaise finished for him, shaking his head disgustedly. Those healing fingers fell back to his side, intertwining with Draco's as his eyes lost any compassion they might have held. "So be it."

"Blaise—"

"No." And with that, they started backing away, their eyes never leaving their parents for a moment, and they only turned when they reached the doors, a mental push throwing them open.

"Stop." It was a soft command, but a command all the same, and it was issued from the only lips that could order them to do anything anymore. They spun back around to face Voldemort, and each dropped to one knee slowly.

"Yes, my lord?"

"You are angry." He said, stating the obvious. "Why?"

"We tire of their game."

"Ah." Tom intoned, sliding closer and bidding them to rise. They did so, and he stopped before them, almost close enough to touch, his red eyes serious and careful, as if he were dealing with potions on the verge of exploding. "About keeping the two of you apart?"

"Yes, my lord."

"That was my doing, actually." He said casually, and they internally reeled, while not a single bit of that inner turmoil reached their eyes or faces. They said nothing even though they knew he waited for them to speak, because they feared that if anything escaped them, it would be something vicious, something they would regret.

So they stayed silent and received their long-awaited answers.

"When that fool Quirrell first found me, wandering and bodiless, the first thing I did after possessing him was return to the two most loyal to me. Lucius and Jeran welcomed me, of course, and told me all about their heirs as they stirred brews to make me strong and keep me strong. Yes, they told me so very much about you both, about how dark and powerful you were becoming, about the amazing feats you had preformed even at such a young age. And I…I saw great things for you both, and for myself as well. Until Hogwarts, only the dark purebloods had seen you as you are, had seen what lives within you, is that not correct?"

They nodded.

"But that castle is full of _others_, not to mention Dumbledore, and I did not think it was time for them to become fully aware of what you are just yet, especially not that old bastard, and I still do not. But now that you are Marked, I can ensure that you won't…_leak_ around one another and let the other's glamours down without warning due to anger or desire. I can ensure that you can be around one another and still stay safely hidden until the time is right. And as for the Quidditch…I wish for Harry to stay sure of himself for now, until it is time to start breaking him. So while the ban of your separation can now be lifted, that one cannot be."

Did he say…did he say the ban was _lifted_?

"Yes, lifted." He repeated with a small smile and a flick of his forked tongue. "Keep each other's company at your will, just don't release your glamours, and don't beat Gryffindor. Not yet. And your fathers did nothing but follow my orders faithfully, even though they despised making you suffer so. They even pleaded your case after the incident with Crouch, who paid quite dearly for harming you long before the end of the year, I can assure you. He was useful, if only for a moment, but that was no excuse for what he did. I am told, however, that you yourselves dealt with his punishment. Did you…speak to the Dementor, by any chance?"

Something odd, and yet frightfully familiar, flickered in his crimson eyes, and they paused, their words of affirmation dying before they made it to their lips. Because they knew that look, they'd seen it too many times, and it intrigued them and worried them all the same. It was definitely something that they shouldn't have seen from him, of all people, and that's what caused the worry. But the intrigue…Well, who wouldn't be intrigued when seeing what they saw and knowing what it meant? _He…fears us. _It was startling and strange, and they pushed that thought back, pushed it deep inside and locked it away to be forgotten for years.

But the first seed of doubt was planted nonetheless.

That summer was anything but dull, as cloaked attacks and quiet assassinations abounded, and not a day went by that someone didn't bleed and scream and die at their hands. Their Lord didn't truly reveal himself, but all knew, fueled on by Dumbledore's leaving speech and by his continued efforts over the summer to reveal the truth. He told Harry's story of Voldemort's rebirth, he named the names Harry had and more as Death Eaters and possible Death Eaters, and the lines were drawn. Light witches spoke only of war in the abstract, while the Ministry denied everything, as it was sitting pretty in the feared Death Eaters' pockets.

But the dark ones…they readied themselves for battle and bloodshed, for mayhem and murder, and the laughed as they did so, anticipating every minute of the following years with glee. Their domination begun, silent and stealthy until they were ready to declare full-on war, and he and Blaise quickly proved that fifteen was not too young for responsibility and power, not for them. They rose quickly in the Death Eater ranks, winning duel after duel and position after position until they stood in the first circle at an unheard-of age, and all knew that they had the Dark Lord's ear and favor. He adored them as much as anyone else did.

You could even say he loved them in his own, warped way.

But he loved their strength most of all, loved what they would be able to do give another year or two, and he said he saw triumph and glory every time he glanced at them. Which is probably why he kept them at his side more and more often, sometimes forsaking even Nagini in order to dine with them, plan with them, hunt with them. Some of the older Death Eaters more than likely felt resentment, but they kept it hidden well enough, and after the first few mangled, malevolent examples, they wisely stayed silent. Most were dark enough to understand, though, and those who weren't quickly learned; they were different, fey, and deadly, easy to anger and quick to kill.

And all before their majorities.

Many feared that day, their birthday, which they shared because of old family ties. The Malfoy and Zabini heirs have always shared a birthday, and it had been happening for so long that no one could remember how it started. But yes, many feared the dawn of their seventeenth year, because that is when a witch or wizard fully awakens to their magic, and if they were not already fully awakened, then what they would be after that was very nearly unimaginable. Many said they would become Dark Lords like Voldemort himself, while others said it would be too much and they would burn up and die. But no one really knew, not even them.

That school year started out much better than any other, differently, though no one but them noticed until they filed off the train to meet the carriages and the waiting thestrals. Still, nothing seemed too odd, not to anyone but the Slytherins, because they knew that Draco and Blaise weren't allowed near one another, yet they climbed into the same carriage. They said nothing yet, though, keeping quiet throughout the walk to the Great Hall, ignoring the looks of distrust and suspicion leveled on the Slytherins from all the other Houses. No, they only said something when they got to the center of their table and Blaise sat beside Draco, as he'd wanted to since first year.

"Blaise!" Pansy exclaimed softly, grabbing his arm. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Waiting for the Sorting, of course."

She stared. "Oh gods, I actually thought you were getting along with your fathers again, too." She said, sinking onto the bench. The rest of the House, which had been undecided, sat as well, glancing at them every few seconds, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"We are." Draco said calmly, his eyes scanning the Hall and watching the other Houses get settled, the noise level slowly rising.

"What?" Goyle questioned loudly, his deep voice rumbling down the table. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, Goyle." Draco sighed, cursing fate for attaching them to him so cruelly. Then, with rising joy, he remembered that with Blaise at his side, he didn't need their hulking presence at his back constantly, not that he really had before. But it would have looked unseemly for a Malfoy to walk around alone, or so he was told. And now…"Oh, wait, there was one thing."

"What's that, Draco?" Crabbe, the slightly more intelligent — _slightly_, mind you — one asked, and Draco actually smiled, earning quite a few gasps for the effort.

"I'll no longer be needing your…services." He said, trying his damnedest to be somewhat civil and to remind himself that their bloodlines were very, very old and definitely worth breeding at the least. Crabbe stopped in mid-blink, and Goyle stiffened.

"W-What?" They asked together, slowly, and their voices shook the barest bit. Letting his eyes travel back over the hall, he answered flippantly, growing quickly bored and only halfway paying attention.

"You don't have to tag along after me anymore. You're free to pursue some sort of life that doesn't revolve around me, which I'm sure you'll be pleased enough about, as I'm fully aware of what a prick I am. One of the bans was voided this summer, and Blaise and I no longer have to stay apart in public. Have fun…doing whatever it is that you do. Eating, I suppose."

Silence.

Blaise nudged him, his blue eyes slightly wide, and Draco cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. He shook his head, obsidian hair consuming the candlelight, and tilted his chin in their direction. Looking back at his cronies of four years, he nearly fell off the bench when he saw them and then actually _registered_ what he was seeing. They looked normal enough at first glance, huge and bulky, all rounded edges and blunt features, and quite a bit of muscle was constrained underneath robes the size of most people's tablecloths. But that's not what stunned him. No, the tears building in their eyes and starting to stream down their cheeks did that.

To say that he was horrified was an understatement of astronomic proportions.

They were crying. They were fucking _crying_, and he was utterly clueless. Crabbe and Goyle, the two who couldn't find their way out of a Zonko's bag if you held it open and threw them a broomstick, were actually starting to bawl, the silent tears turning into small, choked sobs, and Draco wondered if his mouth was hanging open. It would be a first, but the situation seemed almost unreal enough to merit it. Anton dropped the silver hip flask he'd just procured from one of his deep pockets, Pansy choked on nothing, and several more Slytherins reacted similarly, the word spreading down their table quickly. And Draco stared.

He'd never really seen anyone cry before, no one that he knew and associated with anyway, expect for a rare time or two with his and Blaise's mothers. But this…this was something new, this uncontrolled (or was it uncontrollable?) outpouring. And right on the heels of that thought came another. _We're in the Great Hall, and they're disassembling in front of hundreds of light mages. Bloody fucking hell. _He had to do something, because even though he didn't like them, they were Slytherins, dark purebloods, and they stuck together against outsiders even if they were only a second from killing one another.

"Crabbe, Goyle…" He started, but that only seemed to upset them more, and the other Houses were starting to realize something was up, turning to gawk.

The Slytherins quickly rose at a hand signal from him, and circled close around the center of their table, hiding what was happening with a wall of black and green robes. But some had seen, and whispers spread like a grassfire through the Hall. Crabbe and Goyle both rose, shot him wounded looks, and bolted, shoving past their Housemates and disappearing from the Hall with tear-stained faces visible to all. Mortified, the Slytherins all seemed frozen, not quite believing nor understanding what had just happened. Then they all slowly turned to look at Draco and Blaise, the seventh years not even trying to deal with this shit.

"We can't leave." Draco stressed softly when Blaise nudged him again. "The Sorting…"

"I know!" A voice carried to them from amid the many mumblings racing the width of the Hall, bits and pieces reaching their ears. "Really crying…can't believe it…don't want to be Death Ea…Malfoy's making them….known for ages…cousin in the Ministry, you kn…probably had them under the Imperius…if we were all like the Malfo…can understand why the muggles used to burn…"

The loud-mouthed wizard spoke not another word as Anton spun, a curse flying past several Ravenclaws and hitting the Hufflepuff who'd been next to their table in the center of his chest, sending him flying backwards onto his own table, shrieking, his skin rippling as if bugs crawled just underneath the surface. Others started screaming then, and Severus, Sprout and Vector waded into the students, shooing them back to their seats. Severus came over to Anton, his face blank but his black eyes shining with amusement if you knew how to look for it, and he took his arm, escorting him out of the Hall and sneering at the students who scrambled away from them.

Crabbe and Goyle were found later, long after the Sorting, down by the dock, hanging by the rafters in the boathouse. Draco had been with the group that found them, and all he could remember thinking as he watched them swinging slightly from side to side, the ropes creaking eerily, their faces blue and black and purple, was '_What_ _an awfully_ _muggle_ _way to go about it_.' It was the talk of the school from then on, how the evil Malfoy had driven them to suicide and didn't give a shit. They said that he'd shunned them, and they all found out why the next morning, when Draco had entered the Great Hall with Blaise at his side for the first time.

They'd all been too distracted to notice them sitting together the night before, but they weren't then, and they looked both startled and dismayed, for many had been very pleased with the fact that for once, the Malfoy and Zabini heirs hadn't done more than occasionally acknowledge each other. Dumbledore had laid piercing blue eyes on them from the moment they entered, a sense of defeat within them that they'd never seen before, and it grew as the weeks passed and they were never more than a few feet from one another. And then, two months into term, their world changed subtly, yet completely, and all it took was eleven words.

They were in the gardens, their cloaks spread across the soft grass and their clothes spread in random directions, the moon bright and swollen above them, drowning out the stars closet to it. That moonlight shone over Blaise's ivory skin as if that's what it had been made for, as if it existed solely to bathe and frame this beautiful creature in a halo of silver radiance, to draw the eye to every inch of his pale perfection in worshipful reverence. He soaked every bit of the sight in that he could as he rode him lethargically, his split wrist dripping his life's blood onto and past those damning lips that never failed to drive him mad.

And then Blaise changed everything.

"Draco…" He growled, a warning in those words, but Draco paid him no heed, moving as torturously, agonizingly slow as he had been, only to find himself slammed back into one of the ancient limestone archways, Blaise's lips ravishing his as his legs wrapped around his waist.

There was no more teasing procrastination, no more listless leisure, as it went the way it always did between them; hard and fast and preferably bloody. Teeth and nails sliced skin sweetly, the pain like a thousand little pricks of pleasure, and their bodies ground together with enough force that they would have broken a normal human, but it only made them needier, more desperate, more ravenous. It was driving, all-consuming, a merging of the night within them, and it had always just been understood that they couldn't find the same anywhere else, and that they would always come back. But then, with eleven small words, a new thread of fate was spun.

"Keep me, own me, kill me." Blaise whispered decadently into his ear with a wicked twist of hips, a devout gleam in those blue eyes. "I'm yours. I love you."

The world stopped and then exploded, rational thought fleeing completely as those words echoed through his mind and his body dissolved at the seams into liquid ecstasy, scream after wanton scream torn from him and soaking into their aural shields as they melded with Blaise's own. And then…something new happened. Their mind link, fused the day they met so very long ago, changed, morphed and grew, and suddenly he _was_ Blaise, feeling what both of them felt as it drug his orgasm out impossibly, and so lost in dark bliss was he that he didn't remember them sinking to the ground, didn't remember them curling tightly together.

But he remembered his next words, words almost as binding as Blaise's own.

"Steal me, want me, save me." That beloved hair ate his ardent words, tickled across his cheek and spilled over his prayerful lips. "Always yours. I love you too."

Their blood still stained the earth and arch, never fading.

Their Housemates knew something was different from the moment the stepped into their common room, but silence was silver and not a one said a word. That year was so much better than the ones before it, even after the disastrous start. They attended classes, shagged each other stupid in between them, and went to their Lord as soon as the last one ended. They learned ever more, for the capabilities of magic were truly endless, and they laughed as the Golden Trio whispered of ways to beat the spreading darkness. Only one incident stood to mar Draco's glee; the boggart lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which they were recapping for their O.W.L's.

He supposed he could call Remus to the side, seeing as how Dumbledore had persuaded him to come back, unable to find anyone else, and explain the situation, but that would look altogether too suspicious, since Draco supposedly detested Lupin from his scruffy head to his scuffed boots. He and Blaise had avoided it in their third year when Lupin had mentioned it one night and they'd made sure to skip class the next day, but they were already there now, and they couldn't very well just walk out as if they were scared, which they weren't. It was just a bit too revealing for their tastes, since their greatest fear was their greatest weakness, as well.

Because they feared only one thing, and it would have been all right for the Slytherins to see it, and _they_ didn't even really care if the whole fucking world saw it, but their fathers probably would. Sharing a mildly concerned glance, they simultaneously decided that there was nothing they could do without appearing afraid, and they absolutely refused to look weak before anyone, let alone those of another House. Padma, Mandy and Terry grinned knowingly at them, while the rest of the Ravenclaws soaked up Lupin's every word, oblivious to everything else. The Ravenclaws went first, and then Slytherin after Slytherin until Remus called Blaise to have a go.

The Ravenclaws were anything but oblivious a few moments later.

It was strange, Draco thought, to see himself so lifeless and dead, but not so strange to see bruises staining his pale skin purple and silvery red blood flowing freely from various wounds. But this…this was worse than anything he had ever taken pleasure from, it was more like something they'd done to others when breaking their spirits by breaking their bodies first, and he internally started when one silver eye cracked open, because he'd thought the 'him' on the floor was dead, as he'd seen death enough times to know it. And then, he realized that Blaise's true fear was a mirror of his own and not just of him being _dead_.

No, there were worse things than simply dying.

How many times had they trapped a soul within a corpse? Enough to know that it was one of the two worst fates to have, enough to know that there was no hell that could drive men mad any quicker. And there 'he' was, his body dead and his soul caged inside it, agony and torment and eternal, ceaseless pain glittering clearly in his platinum eyes. Several Ravenclaws gasped and stumbled backwards, Padma, Mandy and Terry looked sick, and the Slytherins stared in genuine horror, understanding all too well what they were seeing. Pansy looked ill, Anton completely stricken, and Remus was horrified, glancing up at them quickly.

"I…" Remus started, but his voice seemed to snap Blaise out of the semi-trance he'd been in, and he ripped his eyes away from the battered figure on the floor.

"_Riddikulus!_"

A wave of black oak had the boggart morphing into Potter, the wounds becoming even more grotesque as it coughed up foul black blood that reeked of death and poison. Blaise snickered and Draco snorted, the Slytherins and a few assorted Ravenclaws hid their smirks, and the others looked severely nauseous, one running from the room with her hands over her mouth. Draco stepped forward as Blaise stepped back, and the thing changed again, warping into a Blaise that looked all too much like the Draco from a moment ago, and Draco suddenly understood why Blaise had frozen. It was entirely different seeing his love in such a state than it had been seeing himself.

He didn't like it at all. Blaise was anything but this weak, destroyed creature on the ground before him, and even though he _knew_ it wasn't him, just the sight made him feel both queasy and heartbroken, two things he had never before experienced. It was strange, the odd fluttering of his stomach and the real, true, physical pain in his chest, spreading out to his fingers and toes like a toxic venom that ate everything in its path. There wasn't even room for rage past the engulfing grief gnawing at his soul, and that was new, too, as he'd never really known sorrow before, either. Then there was a hand on his arm, black nails digging in just hard enough to get his attention.

"Drac—" Blaise started, but stopped abruptly. Because as soon as he'd touched him, that black hair started spinning into scarlet, the sculpted features softening the slightest bit, and those eyes were melting into charcoal gray that would give them away.

"_Riddikulus!_"

A wave of ebony that time, Draco's voice as precise as his intent, and those eyes became sky blue instead, the red hair lightening and becoming shorter, the freckles darkening. Their secret safe behind the face of a very abused Ron Weasley, neither could help laughing with both genuine pleasure and relief as he started throwing up blood and thicker things, clawing at his face with cracked, yellowed nails until those cornflower eyes were nothing but thick, milky fluid that turned black as it fell down his cheeks in heavy globs. Some Ravenclaw was throwing up in the corner, another had fainted, and the rest had backed away until they'd hit the far wall.

The entire castle knew by nightfall.

Out of all the Slytherins, it was Severus, surprisingly, that found the tale the most entertaining. He walked around snickering to himself for days, and every time he saw Potter, he'd wipe imaginary blood from his mouth and cackle. When he saw the Weasel, he'd tap his cheek right underneath his eye, wink, and smile a creepy, creepy smile before turning away so quickly you wondered if you'd imagined it. It was quite unprofessional, but few things could truly amuse Severus, and when they did, they _greatly_ amused him. Potter and the Weasel had no idea what to think, looking at Severus as if he'd gone fucking batty overnight.

The year slipped by as usual, but for once, there wasn't any climatic confrontation between the Golden Boy and the forces of evil, or some such nonsense. And while he ran around, looking for something to prevail against, they fell deeper and deeper into darkness, fell so fast and hard that they felt coated in it constantly, as if they'd acquired a new layer of resilient skin. They were beginning to heal even faster, their senses expanding ever more, and their magical reserves grew and grew, as if there was no stop to it at all, just a vast, swelling space within them and all around them that waited to give up its dark bounty at their vaguest beckoning.

It was not a matter of calling on the darkness for them, but more an issue of _releasing_ it. It permeated every cell, raced through every vein, and small transfusions of their blood could change others, make them stronger, faster, better. They'd known that for quite some time, but the effects were strengthening, strengthening until Anton could throw off the Cruciatus and take a knife in the spine without dying. Strengthening until Pansy could hit the ground from four stories up and walk away without so much as a bruise. Strengthening until Sirius could blow up much more than a mere street with one curse, until Severus could hold the Imperius for days on end.

And it grew ever more silvery.

Their fathers again waited for them at the train station, and that time, they acknowledged them and returned home with them, their anger long cooled with the answers they had sought. They had not forgotten, no, but knowing that the bans had been Voldemort's ideas made it easier to talk to them, look at them, without wanting to spill that pure blood all over the immediate vicinity. That summer was to be spent with them from start to finish, a request their fathers had made in an effort to fix things between them. It was either going to work very well, or it was going to end in two of the four of them dying. Whatever the turnout, it promised to be interesting.

The third night of summer, the sun fell on Azkaban Isle just as the breach in the wards had them ripping open, Death Eaters spilling through en masse. Draco, Blaise, Voldemort and their fathers had been the first to arrive, their brooms hovering above the water and reminding him of the last time he'd sat over these icy waves and stared off at the looming fortress. They were there to seal the deal with the Dementors, one hundred and seven innocent souls trapped in spelled globes resting in packs slung across their backs, and the first hint of a cold much deadlier than the water beneath them had him tensing with anticipation.

He really liked Dementors.

"Well?" Jeran whispered next to his ear, and he smirked. Their elders had been immensely pleased to finally learn that he and Blaise could communicate with the creatures, and when asked if they could do it from afar as well, they'd agreed to try.

And it had worked, which brought them to this glorious glacial paradise.

"Patience." He replied calmly, and a few moments later, the first Dementor broke the surface, its robes drying as it rose from the freezing depths, and it swooped toward them as more and more appeared, until they formed a dome above them, and almost certainly below them, as well.

The first stopped scant feet from them, coating their robes and hair with ice, and another slid from the circle, joining it and staying slightly to the side. Draco started to say something, when the first Dementor shuddered and moved closer in a jerky movement, as if yanked on by a hook, and the second mimicked it, a strange, eerie, high-pitched noise leaving it in odd rings, reminding him of sonar. The shield of black-clad creatures around them wavered as the rings of that cry reached them, and the sky was blocked out completely as they moved closer, fitting together like puzzle pieces. Then the first spoke, a clawed hand reaching out.

'_And ssso the little lordsss return._' It hissed, those sharp, poisonous nails grazing over his cheek almost fondly. '_But thee and thine are not ssso little anymore._'

'_No._' He agreed, not so much as flinching as those claws ran over his lips and down his throat.

'_Never hasss a mortal let me ssso freely touch them._' It sounded satisfied, convinced, though he knew not of what. '_They cower, they quake, they sssuccumb to memoriesss and horror, and the darker onesss ssstill themssselvesss, going deep enough into the blacknesss to block it out. But thee, thee and thy lover, neither of thee do. Doesss thee know why?_'

'_Because we are strong._' He responded, watching the other Dementor once again mimic this one's actions, its scaly flesh scratching over Blaise's skin.

'_Yesss_.' It conceded, sucking in its first deep breath, and he watched curiously as part of his essence flowed into it. '_But it isss more than that._'

'_More?_'

'_Much more. Becaussse he,_' its hidden face turned briefly to Blaise, '_tassstesss__ like a Consssort._'

Draco froze. '_A Consort? Who's Consort?_' He demanded, forgetting etiquette. The only one of rank to keep a Consort was Voldemort, and though he loved his Lord, he didn't love him that much. Not enough to give up Blaise. He didn't love _anyone_ enough for that.

'_Thee worriesss over nothing. Doesss thee not sssee?_' It paused, shivered again, and continued. '_No, no, thee doesss not, not yet. But thy will. Thy will sssee what I sssenssse. Becaussse he,_' a turn towards Voldemort that time, who had blank, dead eyes, a side effect of resisting the Dementors' influence, or so they were told, '_he tassstesss like a Dark Lord._'

'_As well he shoul—_'

'_But thee,_' it cut him off, '_thee tassstesss like a King._'

Draco and Blaise nearly fell off their brooms.

'_What?_' Blaise snapped, the first he had added to the conversation, and the Dementor before him drew even closer, as if his outburst was quite delectable.

'_Worry not on it now, Princcce of Ssshadowsss. Thy will underssstand all sssoon enough, I asssume. Now, doesss thee have our promisssed sssoulsss?_'

'_Of course._' Blaise replied, and they pulled off their packs, their fathers and Voldemort following the movement slowly, as they weren't altogether there at the moment.

'_Good. Releassse them and gain entranccce to Azzzkaban. Releassse them and reccceive a…gift from usss, and thee gainsss even more._'

'_A gift? What gift?_' Draco asked, and it sucked in a long breath before responding.

'_Our allegianccce._'

He felt like laughing, laughing or screaming. '_Liar. No Dementor has given such a thing since the dawn of recorded history._'

'_None have been worthy sssince the fall of Atlantia. But the two of thee tassste worthy, worthy in a way we'd thought lossst._'

'_And the price?_'

'_That thee reccceivesss our gift and feedsss usss yearly._'

'_Feeds you what?_' He asked, since he got the impression that they weren't talking about souls.

'_Why, that pure, tainted blood, of courssse._'

A shared glance was all it took, a meeting of cerulean and silver, and they threw the packs into the air, speaking a short spell that had them bursting open, shortly followed by the other three. It was as if they'd just unleashed a slew of stars, stars that spun and swerved and dove like fireflies, and the encompassing circle broke apart, seeking the souls like he would a Snitch, like a bird of prey would a particularly pretty mouse. The two Dementors before them, however, stayed in place, their hoods as obscuring as always, their grayish lips the only visible part of them beside those hands, even to his keen vision.

'_Will_ _thee__ and thine accccept our gift?_'

"Yes." He said aloud, aware that it would understand, and hoping his elders would, too. "And how shall you give us such a thing?"

And it, surprisingly, spoke three words aloud.

"With a Kisss."

Several things happened all together; the Dementors closed on them fully, their elders snarled and drew their wands, and dry, cracked lips descended on their own. Blocking his father's Patronus, hearing Blaise block Jeran's and Voldemort yelling at them to stop, he ignored everything but the new sensations. It was…_odd_ feeling his soul being stripped from him, but it was much odder when it just _stopped_, some barrier within himself snapping up and barring entrance, and a second later, something within him started its own pull. His eyes widened as _he_ started sucking in the _Dementor's_ essence, and it tasted like death and grave dirt, like old blood and foul power.

It was sublime.

And there was no sudden stop to _this_ Kiss, no safety barrier for the Dementor to retreat behind, and he was so giddy with the new energy that he didn't even think about stopping it before the creature started sagging, drooping from the air and into his arms. After all, what they were doing should have, technically, been impossible. It's not as if he was completely up-to-date on activities that hadn't occurred in over six thousand years. All he knew about Dementor allegiance and binding was that they were like a school of fish — nasty, venomous, deadly fish, mind you — in the way that they did everything perfectly in sync with one another.

If one gave allegiance, all gave allegiance through it, and it was not just the Dementor before him that he could taste — and sweet gods, had _taste_ ever taken on a whole new meaning — but all of those near them, and more farther out through _them_, and on and on until he could hardly keep track of them all. But that graceless slump from a creature always mystically perfect with its movements made him become semi-aware of his immediate surroundings once more, and he pulled away slowly, the energy stretching like rotten taffy between them. He shut his mouth with a decisive snap, but the Dementor stayed motionless, its long robes dragging the surface.

"What the fuck?" Blaise said from beside him, the other Dementor in his arms on his broom as well, and Draco shook his head. The rest of the Dementors, freshly fed, started sinking from the air, and he had a moment of something resembling panic. But as he'd never felt such a thing before, he couldn't be sure that was it, and he felt awfully calm for that to be the problem.

"Kiss it." His mouth was forming the words and speaking them before he knew what he was doing. "Kiss it again."

And Blaise did, because he always did whatever Draco asked of him, no matter how deranged those things might seem to some. Draco followed his own advice, his hand wrapped in that thick hood and pulling those scaly lips back to his own, and he pushed the energy back, back into the source, twisting it with his own as Blaise did the same, and those lips moved under his, sucking and biting and trying to get _more_, always more. He was bleeding, bleeding and causing the creature to become crazed at the taste, clawed hands pulling him closer and tearing at his velvet robes, and he allowed it even though he knew he now ruled the being before him.

And all of those rising back into the sky in a frenzy.

_End Flashback_

That had definitely been one of their wisest alliances, not to mention one of their strongest. They were of great help during the war, and would be of even more help very soon in the future. Because the High Royals' project was almost complete, and when it was, their entire world would change. Nothing like it had even been dreamt of before, not until his beloved Virginia had spilled such fated words from crimson lips so long ago. The night had howled and roared and sung, and they had been captivated with the idea from the very first moment, visions of eternal glory and an endless reign whirling through their minds as they considered ways to create what was needed.

"Come, Draco, you've been in here far too long already." Blaise crooned, taking his hand and pulling him under, and the onyx water closing over him cleared his thoughts of everything but the present and their exalted future.

Surfacing, the liquid like wet felicity on his tongue, he was utterly entranced, positively _mesmerized_, when Blaise's raven head rose up next to him, that long hair lost in the blackness of the Pool's water, drops of which stuck to his eyelashes like dew on ebony spider webs. He wondered if it was strange to feel as drawn to him and desperate for him now as he had from the beginning, and decided that he didn't care if it was or not. He preferred the strange and unnatural anyway, and anything involving Blaise was highly desired to begin with. But he felt another craving, one that had stayed sated for many long years by Blaise's oath, and he determined to fulfill it.

Leaning forward in a movement vaguely reminiscent of a serpent striking, he captured that irresistible mouth with his own, surprising and pleasing its owner, who yielded to him readily. But as much as he craved the flesh, that was not his main hunger at the moment, and he poured dark power into that kiss, poured it and kept pouring it until Blaise was trembling, his nails sinking into Draco's sides enough to draw blood. Floating easily, held and embraced by the water, it was nothing and everything to snake one hand down that lean body and wrap knowing fingers around an erection that he prized even more than his own.

And their lips never stopped their ravenous dance.

His other hand wrapped itself in that dripping, silky mane, the strands tangling around his fingers as strong legs encircled his waist, and he was almost tempted to let go of those lips to moan. But Blaise tasted of magic and madness and devotion, and he was loathe to lose something so delicious even for a moment. Teeth sliced tongues until their blood mingled for the millionth (trillionth?) time, and both knew that their lips would be stained blue for hours afterwards. Then Blaise knocked his hand away, impatient for completion in the face of such driving _need_, and he'd sheathed Draco within himself a split second later, without so much as a whispered spell.

The pain was part of the poisonous pleasure, after all.

"Keep me, own me, kill me." Blaise's eyes snapped open as those damning words were murmured against his swollen lips. "I'm yours. I love you."

The smallest bit of wonder sparked in those sapphire eyes, because although Blaise had spoken that part to him forever ago in a forgotten garden, he had never expected to have the most desecrating part of the oath spoken back to him. Both had pledged such to Virginia, and she to them, but the fact that it held true both ways between the two of them had always been a silent pronouncement, something that was just…understood. And, truly, it wasn't befitting of the King to say such to anyone but his Queen, not even to their Consort, but when had Draco ever given a damn about propriety? And with those words, he gave himself to eternal servitude.

Just as Blaise had given himself years and years ago.

"Steal me, want me, save me." Blaise replied huskily, his body tightening as he ground into Draco again, ripping a scream from them both. "Always yours. I love you too."

After that, all was nothing but a blurred batch of unrivaled ecstasy, Draco's world beginning and ending in the wicked beauty that rode him, and he felt Virginia's delighted laughter like a silky internal caress. She'd apparently been waiting for such an occurrence. His lips finally agreed to leave the torrid hell they always found with Blaise's, a hell that he found most appealing, as his hand tightened in that shadowy hair and gave it a vicious tug, eliciting a hiss from Blaise as he exposed that so-white throat, his lips inching to it and leaving a trail of purple marks behind. Teeth sank into flesh, Blaise's scream was a seductive symphony, and both let go, spinning into darkness.

It burst from them in black waves even darker than the water around them, it seeped through the diamond walls and traveled through the ice, and it left them utterly rapturous and satiated, their bodies only relaxing when Blaise's voice died. Neither moved for what felt like ages, black bliss all they knew besides their wife's complacency, and when their heads finally cleared, they found the water had brought them to the edge and saved them from a lengthy swim. Draco crawled out, his hair hanging around him like a shroud, and Blaise crawled out next to him, bloody scratches littering his back, arms and hips, and only then did Draco really notice his own small (and not-so-small) fuck-wounds.

He would be very satisfyingly sore, indeed.

He never let such things heal instantly, as that would ruin half of the fun, and if anyone deserved to mark him in such a way, it was the sultry devil staring at him with haunting eyes through soaked strings of obsidian hair. _The sultry devil that was working half the time I've been _'_resting_' he recalled suddenly, and a degenerate grin twisted his lips. Rising slowly and holding out one hand, Blaise took it without question or thought, his fingers cool and silky smooth against Draco's own. Brushing a lock of that heavy hair back and fully revealing one orb of breathtaking blue, Draco stole a quick, ardent kiss before shoving his mate back and into the Pool.

"Your turn." He smirked nastily when those eyes broke the surface, glaring and starting to lose their focusing capabilities.

Blaise's mumbled, "Shit," was barely audible.

"But don't worry; I'll come back half-way through to ensure that I get shagged for being considerate, just as you did." He mocked as those kohl-lined eyes starting drooping. Scaling one of the many pillars with ease, he was on the third landing's banister when he couldn't resist one more taunt, sure the water had snagged his bonded by then. "Meanwhile, I'll be spending some more quality time with your daughter, hmm?"

All was silent, and Draco snickered. Then…

"I know where Cruoris sleeps, you lecherous shit!"

Draco nearly fell off the railing.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

I'm soooooooooo sorry this took forever, seeing as I had it done two days ago, but this website's been all quirky and I couldn't post. But it was extra long to make up for it, so…

Please review!


	7. Cryptic Consort

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's _mine_, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

**Responses to Reviewers: ****tkmoore**, (abases self before you and builds a small tkmoore shrine in honor of your fantabulous reviews)** LadyDesdemona**, thanks! I'm really glad you've enjoyed it so far!! **sillysun**, oooh, oooh, I like that word! (grins cheekily) love ya! **morphed**, hmm, well, it wasn't supposed to seem like that, since everyone knows that Blaise is the shit too. I'll have to go re-read and see where it went wrong, I suppose. And thanks for reviewing, as always! **MeghanBlack**, THANKS! I'm supremely glad that you liked it so much, and hope that you continue to do so! **Sunday-Morning**, (fulfilling addiction as ordered) and yes, dear, it has green bits in it just for you, lol. **Haunted-Shadows**, LOL, it's been a few days. Hope you liked it, though!** otaku sae**, thanks!!!! you're the best, you know that? love ya! **AnitaBlake/BuffyFan**, thanks! I was hoping someone would make that connection, lol! **Pia O'Leary**, yes! another recruit for the Potter-haters! whoo-hoo!!!!!!! j/k…thanks for reviewing! **atomic sushi**, thanks you so much, and yes, I know. I just like the other better, is all. lol **sarah**, hmm…yes, well…hmm. it _is_ wrong, isn't it? (cackles) :P **Artemisgodess**, thanks so much! and the craziest fic, eh? (grins smugly at competition) **bigreader**, thank you, and I hope this was soon enough, even though it was slightly late! **Tytianne**, thanks a million! hope this meets expectations, lol! **Aleurier**, (shudders) don't worry, I flinch and gag at all things D/Hr as well. just…ewwwwwwww! **gin rose raposo1**, as always, thankyouthankyouthankyou for reviewing! **Golden Rose Storm**, you'll see, lol. well, I guess you _have_ seen Blaise's by now, huh? oh well…love ya! **Flower4444**, interesting good, or interesting bad? hopefully the former, lol! and thanks for reviewing!

**Author's Note: **I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?

**Other Author's Note: **Again, yes, I have heard that Ginny's real cannon name is Ginevra or what-the-fuck-ever. And while I have no problem with that, I myself have always prefered Virginia, which simply sounds more…elegant, in my humble opinion. If you disagree, well…pretend, lol.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"What's this, Draco?" A heavenly voice interceded from above him, and Blaise snickered as Virginia dropped onto the banister with Draco. "Quality time with Corpus? Surely you get enough of that."

Blaise snickered again.

"And you," she glared down at him, "why _wouldn't_ you know where Cruoris sleeps?"

He grew quiet.

"You two are up to something." She said after a moment, and Blaise decided that this would be a fabulous time to give into the Pool's hold. Then, with an uncoiling smirk, he remembered that for once, he hadn't done anything. He also remembered Draco's smug grin as he'd pushed him in the Pool.

"No, but _he_ was." He replied, resisting the urge to cackle. "He was most certainly _up_ to something, I can assure you."

"Do I even want to know?" Virginia asked with a long-suffering sigh.

"That Corpus finally succeeded in catching him off-guard enough to seduce him without having to use intoxicants?" He questioned flippantly, idly splashing his fingers in the dark water and fighting the Pool's cajoling pull. "Perhaps."

Virginia blinked. "Oh."

"_What?_" Draco exclaimed, his silver eyes wide as he stared down at Blaise. "Are you implying that she had that _planned? _And that she was going to _drug_ me otherwise?"

He'd been wrong; _now_ was the perfect time to sink into memories.

_Begin Flashback:_

The Dementors opened Azkaban's wards to them as the horizon turned a bloody red with the setting sun, and they flew inside, four hundred Death Eaters flanking them, more than enough to take care of the limited human guards inside the dank fortress. Still slightly buzzed from the exchange of power, he thoroughly enjoyed the faces of the lookouts as they appeared from nowhere, surrounded by the Dementors who were supposed to keep them out. The others of the creatures inside joined them, and the pure guards were given a choice to serve, those that refused dying quite nastily, vials of their blood all that was kept.

The impure prisoners died as well, while they freed those that had been waiting for such an occurrence. Others freed the lower-ranking captives, while he, Draco, their fathers and their Lord went to the solitary cells, those that held the most dangerous criminals the Ministry had been able to trap. Family members or family friends every one, they greeted them with shock and glee, ecstatic as they were given back their wands for the first time in ages, wands that Fudge had most eagerly supplied him, Draco and their fathers with. But the last row of cells, those buried deep underground, those that contained the truly mad ones, the truly powerful ones…

They were not filled with such joyous reunions.

No, the prisoners held there had been treated much worse than the others had been, for they were the ones that frightened the guards even without their wands, and they were mere shells of themselves. Bella was among them, in a cell scant feet from her beloved Rodolphus, but it might as well have been a league for all of the difference it made. Silencing charms surrounded each barren room, none of which had more than a concrete slab, a ratty blanket, leftover gruel and a small drain in the floor. They left the others to their fathers and their Lord, breaking into Bella's easily and sliding inside the cramped, dark hole.

She was curled up on the slab in the corner, gray rags barely covering her sallow, sunken skin, and blood covered the walls, long, dried streaks of it that formed runes and symbols of power and protection. Cuts lined her arms and legs, some scabbed and some freshly bleeding, and scars covered the rest of her from old wounds that curved and coiled. Bruises had turned her once-fair skin into a map of black, purple, green and yellow, and those were not self-inflicted like the cuts. No, those came from the guards' fright and their need to prove themselves stronger than the battered witch that they held prisoner, which is something that they never could have been.

She looked up at them as they entered, and she would have risen to greet them as she had during visits, but her legs were broken and starting to heal crookedly, and she simply couldn't. But they saw the long-awaited satisfaction in her black eyes, because even though her body was broken, her spirit was not. It was scarred, twisted and abused, but not broken, never that. They broke the binding keeping her from her veela ancestry, and healed her with soft caresses and quiet, calming words, pouring power into both until they had smoothed away the last scar and wiped away the last bruised blemish, and they slowly helped her stand.

"I knew you would come." She said, her voice rough due to the rarity with which she used it, and they pressed her angico wand into her left hand, watching her eyes glaze slightly as she wrapped her fingers around the red and black wood.

"We would never have left you here." They agreed, because they had always seen the beautiful purity in Bellatrix Black, even as they'd watched her wither over the years in forced isolation and entrapment.

A ghost of a smile turned the corner of her lips up, and Draco laid a hand on her shoulder, the rags falling away, replaced with silk robes. She sighed as the material slid over her healed skin and they left, going back out into the shadowed hallway. Her husband had been freed, and she ran to him while they broke open the next cell, which held one of Silana's sisters, Calanthe, who was in much the same state. Healing and clothing her, they moved to the next, Theodore's uncle unresponsive as they worked quickly, and he finally rose after a whispered "_Imperio,_" following them out. Next was Rodolphus's brother, Rabastan, who smiled and moved like a zombie.

Rookwood and Dolohov stood just outside when they went back out that time, three Warringtons, a Rosier and a male Delacour beside them, and Blaise saw Voldemort leading Bryce Baddock from another cell, while his father helped Severus's brother, Sethos, and Lucius led Anton's aunt to where her son leaned against one grimy wall. Blaise and Draco split up, opening the last of the cells and freeing the last of the condemned. Pansy's older brother and two of her cousins soon joined the others, as did Alcaeus Black, Mitchell Arcdine, Marilyn Montague, Orpheus and Prometheus Malfoy and both of Blaise's uncles, his father's younger brothers.

They grew stronger when they were given their returned wands, but all remained much more sluggish than the other prisoners once released, and they trailed after them and down to the main lobby where the others waited without even really registering the walk. They were ghostly, haunting, but they still radiated the power that they'd been so feared over, and the others showed them due respect when they entered that crowded room. Portkeys had been arranged earlier, as many were still too weak to Apparate and would be for weeks, some even months, and they disappeared, the Dementors following, reappearing in the vast front lawn of Malfoy Manor.

The various families and many more besides had been waiting for them, and instant, gleeful reunions took place all over the starlit yard, while Draco and Blaise left with the Dementors into the surrounding forest after dismissing themselves, which no one objected to as they saw the small army of black-cloaked beings spread out behind them. Slipping into the trees soundlessly, they led the creatures deep into the old, gnarled growth that had stood long before Hogwarts and would continue to do so when the school was nothing but dusty remnants of stone and ash that lay forgotten for ages. Reaching a small clearing, they turned and regarded the two leading Dementors.

'_Azkaban lays wasted._' They commented idly, which would be true by then. The set of timed explosions had gone off shortly after they'd left, and the isle once more rested underneath the glacial waves. '_But we would give you a home._'

'_We will go wherever thee wissshesss._' The pair of Dementors replied in unison, creeping closer almost unconsciously.

'_Then_ _call your brethren to you, tell them to abandon the small outposts where they scavenge for yearly meals that are more than half the time denied them. We will feed you and keep you strong, and war beckons ever nearer. Soon, you and yours shall feast more grandly than you have since the Dark Ages_.'

'_A new Dark Age, then?_' They sounded amused and slightly excited, if beings such as they could even experience excitement. '_It ssshall be asss thee sssaysss. They will come, and come within the week._'

'_Good. You can have your pick of our estates to stay at, but divide it up as equally as you can, except for here and at Morte Nera. Touch none that are pure, but any others that you sense within the borders or without are yours for the taking, unless the purebloods are still playing with them. Understood?_'

'_Oh, we underssstand freedom when it'sss offered, young lordsss. Jussst becaussse it hasss not been in centuriesss doesss not mean that we have forgotten it. We know much that many think usss blind about. Why doesss thee think the centaursss hate usss ssso?_'

They left shortly afterwards, fanning out through the woods, and Draco and Blaise shared a mutual glance as they started back for the Manor. Getting to know and understand those strange creatures would be an interesting experience, indeed. They reeked of evil, they were practically embodiments for it, but they were not mindless. Heartless? Yes. Compassionless? Yes. Utterly devoid of anything resembling a conscience? Yes. But mindless? Evidently not. And why should they be? Demons weren't, they knew that personally, so why should the Dementors have been? It just appeared no one knew, because no one had been able to truly communicate with them.

Until now, that is.

They went to check on Lucius's cousins and Blaise's uncles first, and then his aunt, who was being severely pampered by his doting mother. All had already started the difficult, tedious process of magically reverting into what they had once been; healthy, active witches and wizards, not these skeletal, stringy _things_ before them, things with too-wide eyes and deflated cheeks, with paper-thin gray skin and limp, tangled hair. It reminded them of Sirius every time they looked at any of them until they went into Bella's room and saw him sitting beside her bed. He was no longer wasted away, and hadn't been for years. But Bella was, and it stung to see it.

It almost seemed worse now that she was propped up in a bed piled with silk and velvet, her ebony hair brushed out painstakingly by Narcissa, who couldn't seem to stop silently crying, the tears running down her porcelain cheeks like tiny diamonds until they splattered on the silver furs. They were suddenly glad that they had healed the worst of it, for Narcissa might have gone quite mad had she seen the complete destruction of Bella's body as they had. No, now she just looked like a waking corpse with her once-muscled arms the same size as her wrists, her wrinkled cheekbones protruding sharply, and dark smudges encircling darker eyes.

Furs had been piled on top of her along with warming charms, but still she shivered, as if no warmth could ever touch her skin again. Sirius was curled up next to her, his constantly heated body mostly draped over hers as he tried to share his spiked temperature with her, and though she looked comforted by his presence, they knew that his almost burning-hot skin didn't even faze her own. Narcissa was wrapped around her other side, until she and Sirius formed their own blanket made of flesh and adoration, and Bella periodically wiped the tears from her sister's cheeks with one bony hand, the nails of which had been ripped out before they'd healed them.

'_How do you think Fudge should die?_' Draco asked as he watched those still-graceful fingers flutter over his mother's face.

Blaise knew why he asked, since Fudge had sworn their families were being treated decently. He'd obviously been lying, and he'd obviously been having them healed before visits, so that their families wouldn't suspect foul play. That bastard would scream and scream for this betrayal, because not a one of those that had returned had been spared similar treatment. The fool should have known better than to fuck with them, and now they knew why he'd looked so shocked and scared when they'd shown up in his office mere hours ago, demanding wands that had been locked away, wands that had been lying in Ministry vaults for months, years, many for over a decade.

'_I'm sure we'll think of something…fitting._' He replied, and they made their way to the bed slowly, Sirius following their approach through strands of Narcissa's snowy-blond hair. Bella looked up at them when they crawled on the bed, her eyes appraising as she watched them move.

"We all knew it, you know." She said, and her voice, at least, sounded much better.

"Knew what, Auntie?" Draco asked, and she smirked.

"How beautiful the both of you would be." She replied after a thoughtful moment, and motioned them closer. They slid farther up the bed until Blaise was half in between her and Narcissa, Draco half in between her and Sirius. She wrapped a ravished hand in both ebony and mercury, their hair as soft and fine as the silk surrounding her, and the smirk melted into a soft smile.

"You did say that often, didn't you?" Narcissa murmured, burying her face in her sister's own flowing hair, which spread over the pillows and under the blankets, but that had lost its shine, its vibrancy.

"Of course I did. Everyone did. What else could we have expected? We all knew when the four of you paired off and married that your children couldn't be anything but stunning. And we were right. Malfoy and Black, Zabini and Delacour, they are mixes of our oldest, most glorious and most gorgeous lines. I have never seen males so…pretty."

Draco and Blaise looked at one another again, silently trying to decide if they liked being called 'pretty'. From anyone else, no. From Bella…well.

"Pretty, and yet so fierce, so very masculine, that the word almost seems wrong." She continued, her hands slowly unwinding themselves from their hair. "What else to call it then? Simple, extraordinary perfection? Ethereal beauty? Perhaps that, yes, for you are ethereal, if anything. What do you suppose you will be in a few years then, if you are so much already, and barely sixteen?"

"More ethereal?" They quipped, and she rolled her eyes. "For I doubt we could get any more perfect."

"Ah, and forever arrogant to boot." She sighed, falling back against the pillows and smirking again. "I remember what it is like to be the most comely of our kind. Do not take your glory for granted, and pray that it is never stolen from you as mine was from me."

"Stolen it might have been, Auntie," Draco whispered as her eyes fell closed, exhaustion overcoming her. "But it will be returned to you, I can promise you that."

And it was, they saw to it personally, staying with her during the long days of recovery that were anything but painless. They checked on the others as well, but they stayed with her most often and their fathers stayed with them. The summer was to be spent with them, after all, and if that meant it was to be mostly spent inside a sickroom, then so be it. The transformation took many aching, tormented days to complete, as the potion worked through the prisoners' veins, eating away the foulness that place had left in their blood, eating away the aging beyond their years and the rampant infections that had polluted their bodies and thoughts.

They shed the layers of it like reptiles, except it was one after the other, and the skin had to be ripped free. Those closest to the prisoners preformed that task, carving the flesh of their loved ones away and ignoring their screams and pleas for it to stop once the pain had fogged their reason and determination. But Bella never screamed, though she writhed and tore at the sheets in constant agony. Time after time, they repeated the process, until they knew that the walls and floors of the Manor would never be free of all the blood, until they knew that they would be finding dried bits of flesh for ages. And with each layer removed, it got worse.

Those that had been inside Azkaban longer took the longest, and had the most…_sheddings_ to undergo. The first weren't so bad, just regular skin except for the washed-out coloring. The next few were worse, though, the skin becoming hard and yellowish-brown, and they had to practically hack at it to get it to come loose. The next sets following those were even more bad-off, the skin softening again but turning green and moldy, as if they were long-dead. Many of the prisoners stopped there, except for those that had been in the deepest, darkest reaches of Azkaban, those in that cursed, forgotten wing. No, they still had more to endure.

They had a last set of layers to be removed, the green becoming darker and almost black, run-through with pus and fouler things, and it was practically dripping off on its own continuously, having turned into something liquidly gelatinous. All that was recognizable about Bella at that point was her eyes, the only things that had stayed unaffected throughout, and it was probably a blessing that on that thirteenth day, Narcissa had succumbed to fatigue and fallen asleep in an armchair by the fire, her son's silencing spells surrounding her. Because that's when Bella suddenly shot up, globs of…well, of _herself_ falling around her like hellish rain, and then she fell back and…died.

Narcissa would have had a bloody heart attack.

But Bella didn't stay lifeless for long as she started convulsing, sending veritable missiles of the shit everywhere, before it all just melted completely, and all that was left were those eyes floating in a pool of the goo that she'd been reduced to. _Then_ she screamed, screamed and screamed and screamed, even though she had no mouth anywhere to be seen, and other screams, matching screams, could be heard echoing all throughout the Manor like a tortured, off-key symphony. It lasted for hours, a never-ending chorus of pain and, oddly, release. They'd seen the same with Sirius once before, so it wasn't wholly unexpected.

Neither was that gel suddenly beginning to solidify once more, taking shape as it fell back in on itself, bubbling and hissing and popping. Sirius stared with wide eyes throughout, not remembering much of the process himself, while they perched on the footboard, watching and waiting as they'd been doing for days. Legs slowly formed, brownish-black and still watery, then hips and a waist, breasts and shoulders, arms and a neck. It was not a quick rebuilding, and her head took the longest, boiling and roiling like heated tar as she continued screaming. Then her voice abruptly died off, and they moved forward, ignoring Sirius's startled expression.

Each took one of her hands, hands that dyed their skin black and oozed between their fingers, as they waited for the last layer to fall away. Several minutes later, it did just that. The sludge sloughed off, and what rose underneath it was firm but giving, old but new. Flashes of white were the first differences to be seen, and then more and more as fresh, healthy skin finally fought its way free. The faintest pink tinge highlighted it, and cleansing spells murmured softly had the last of the…_mess_ disappearing, though the mattresses and sheets would have to be burned. The shit had eaten through them to the floor.

They simply looked at her for quite some time, admiring the grace with which she'd been made, and they finally saw what so many others had before her imprisonment. Nigh incomparable beauty. She was over forty, but mages don't age nearly as quickly as muggles, and she was part veela besides. She would have been nearly as vibrant had she not been locked away, but for all of the potion's pain, it had restored her completely, and she appeared no older than twenty-four or twenty-five. Every inch of her was trim and toned, just as she had been before her imprisonment, and her hair barely brushed the tops of her knees, making her look as if she wore a dress of black fur.

The pink tinge faded, the screaming had stopped, and her eyes slowly opened their new lids, her gaze locking onto the stars above her that were spread across the enchanted ceiling. Her lips parted slowly, wine-red and full, and she drew in a long breath, her teeth once more a pearly white and whole, rather than rotting. Then she turned her head slowly, meeting first Draco's eyes and then his own, and they could see the smallest glimmer of panic within them, as if she wasn't quite sure whether she was still trapped within a body like she had been for the last two weeks. So Blaise did the only thing he knew to do to help her, and called in a mirror.

It had worked for Sirius, after all.

She flinched when it first appeared floating in the air before her, but then those colorless eyes grew large and she grabbed it, sitting up quickly and looking in it frantically. She ran fingers over the glass as if it would shatter before moving them to those scarlet lips, and a strange fire alit within her, furious and ecstatic and burning. Tossing the mirror aside and rising to her knees, she looked over her body slowly, inspecting every inch before she started laughing. It was rich and wondrous, velvet honey, and she spun, pulling Blaise to her by his hair. He didn't fight the movement, though he could have avoided it long before she'd reached him.

No, he let her drag him forward, let her cover his lips with her own, and he responded, because he knew what she was after. She could see that she was back, feel it, but the proof of it to her, the one thing that could make it undeniable, was his desire. She had once been used to being the most desirable creature to walk upon Terra, and it had been one of her greatest joys as well as one of her greatest weapons. Yes, he knew exactly how effective such beauty could be, as he and Draco had used their own countless times before. So he kissed her, kissed her madly and viciously, slamming her back and into the massive headboard.

She moaned into his mouth, her hand tightening in his hair as she tried to pull him even closer, and he realized, with something like rage and something like horror, that she had been denied even so simple a thing for over fifteen years. He would have sneered and cursed had his lips not been much too occupied, so instead, he poured dark magic into that kiss and through his fingers into her hips, twisting the shadowed strands of it into devious delight that thrummed every nerve within her and that would have had her screaming had his lips not still been devouring her own. Nicking his tongue with suddenly sharp teeth, he freely gave what others killed for.

His blood.

Her whole body jerked, her eyes shot open, and that time her screams were stopped by the crimson elixir that she couldn't get enough of and that made their kiss turn even hungrier as she grew as crazed as they all did when tasting of himself or his love, whom he knew was standing mere feet away, his eyes averted from his wanton aunt. Sensing her losing control, sensing the wave of black passion that he'd risen within her about to break, Blaise pulled her hips forward harshly, his nails drawing blood as she wrapped her legs around him automatically, and he gave her what she wanted. Sending a last spear of darkness lancing through her, he ground into her and let her feel how hard she'd made him.

That time she _did_ scream, throwing her head back and howling in triumph and ecstasy.

_End Flashback_

_Bella, Bella, lovely Bella_, he thought absently, his eyes glued to the stars shining brightly above him, their silver light turning the diamond into something that looked alive and shimmering. _Aunt and sister, friend and lover, always loyal_. A slight huffing noise caught his attention, and he slowly turned his head to see who desired his attention, the sparkling diamond seeming to stretch and spin like slowly moving fireworks. He then wished he hadn't, for his daughter was pinning him with quite the pestilent glare. She sat upon the water's surface, her arms crossed and her legs tucked underneath her, hair the color of old, rich wine floating around her.

"I. Cannot. Believe. That. You. Bloody. Well. Told. Him!" She spat out through gritted teeth, and he would have sneered and said something like, '_Well_, you _bloody well fucked him_,' but since he couldn't, he just glared right back. "That was positively _wrong_, papa! Do you know what he did? _Do you_?"

At least he could still smirk.

"He _confronted_ me about it! _In front of Cruoris_! Came stalking in with narrowed eyes as if I'd been conspiring to fucking _kill_ him instead of shag him, and confiscated all of my liquor and spice! I'll _never_ live this down, not _ever_, and it's _all your__ fault_!"

He just seriously wished that he could laugh, as well.

But someone else seemed to feel the urge to do it for him, and he knew that laugh, as did Corpus. Both looked up to where Bella and Sirius stood on the first landing, grinning like banshees, and Corpus groaned. "I hate you, papa, I really do." She said morosely, falling back onto the water with a wet 'plop'.

_Of course you do, love_, he thought to himself, since the Pool blocked even telepathic conversations from making any sense once it had a hold of you. Bella called out to Corpus as his mind started sinking back into memories of dead years, and she splashed him irritably before joining the older woman, though they could have been sisters if you went by how youthful each would always be. Sirius gave him a small wave, his cherished Corpus gave him another glare, and Bella blew him a kiss from blood-red lips that were slightly curved in a small smile. Then she took Corpus's hand and said something that almost — _almost_, mind you — made the younger woman blush.

After that, he knew nothing but what he had once known long ago.

_Begin Flashback:_

Bella was back, and the rest of that summer was anything but dull. The remaining weeks were spent with her, Sirius and their fathers, and whole villages disappeared night by night, wiped out or recruited, while the Ministry continued turning a blind eye, Fudge more terrified of them than ever before. They'd gone to see him a week after Bella's recovery, the five of them sneaking in through his flimsy wards and waiting for him in his living room, and he'd nearly died of shock when he'd flooed in. Bella had not been kind, to say the least, many remembered taunts ringing in her ears, and she'd showed him exactly what happens when one scorns a Black.

So he kept a lid on their activities, and both Draco and Blaise knew that he would suffer much more at _their_ hands when his usefulness was used up, which wouldn't be too far off in the future. So they busied themselves with hunts and war conferences, with parties and appearances, the latter of which got quite tiring, since all anyone wished to do when they made said appearances was gawk and whisper about wanting to fuck them. As if any of the cretins stood a fucking _chance_ at receiving an invitation to their bed. It was already full of the most beautiful and powerful of their kind, so why would they even think of looking elsewhere?

Had the fools not _seen_ Anton and Pansy? Melody and Theodore? Daphne and Sebastian? Parvati and Padma? All shone more darkly brilliant than the slobbering idiots could ever dream of, and those nights typically ended in someone being ripped apart and left on the floor to cool in pieces, as Blaise had no patience for wandering hands and eyes when it came to Draco, and Draco had the same problem when it came to Blaise. Such events soon stopped, however, when a very drunk, very stupid wizard stumbled up to Blaise one night while he was leaning against a marble pillar next to the dance floor at one of his distant cousin's estates.

"Hey!" The wizard called to get his attention, and he drug his eyes away from where they'd been watching Draco spin a laughing Bella around him, looking at the older man that stood to his left with crooked robes and cheeks red from drinking. Anton, who was standing beside Blaise with one arm around his waist, arched an eyebrow and silently asked, '_Who_ _the fuck is that?_', which said better than anything that the man before them was nobody.

"Yes?" Blaise asked semi-politely, since he was in quite a good mood and had consumed enough spice to kill a goblin.

"Fifty galleons!" The man said excitedly, realizing that he had Blaise's attention and sidling closer. Anton's eyes narrowed, watching his slightest movement as he scooted even nearer, and Blaise wondered if the man would do something foolish and get himself killed. Probably.

But he had no idea just _how_ stupid.

"Excuse me?"

"Fifty galleons!" The man repeated, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "You look so much like him, so very much like him, and I would do anything…"

"What the fuck are you babbling about?" Anton snapped, but the wizard didn't even glance over, as if he could see nothing but whatever strange fantasy played within his mind. Blaise would have looked closer, but he was pretty sure that he didn't want to know.

"Please." The man begged, his voice barely carrying over the loud music as he swayed from side to side, nearly falling over several times while just standing in place. "Never have I seen one that so resembled the Zabini heir, and I'll pay you up front, right now if you wish it. _Please_."

Bloody fucking hell.

"He _is_ the Zabini heir, you brainless swine." Anton hissed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he started to move forward, his wand dropping from his sleeve and into his free hand.

"Sure, sure, whatever you say. You his pimp or something?" The wizard asked, nodding at Blaise, who simply stared. Anton snarled and sprung, Blaise barely restraining him in time and pulling him back against his side. This was much too amusing to end so quickly.

"Yes, he's my…what did you call it? My pimp?" Blaise tried desperately not to snicker. He really _had_ had too much spice. "I assume that means that he sells me to any willing bidder, since I am apparently no more than a worthless whore to be used by any who wish it, hmm?"

Anton turned to gape at him in stunned disbelief, denial and horror. Amusing, indeed.

"Exactly, love." The man tried to say seductively, but it just sounded hoarse and sloppy. Anton's eyes fogged over with fury, snapping back to the man and practically sparking, but he kept talking. "You're the whore and I'm the bidder. Fifty galleons is probably more gold then you've ever seen, but it's yours if you come with me."

That was almost too ridiculous to be humorous.

"F-Fifty…fifty galleons…you…you fucking _dare_…" Anton was so infuriated at that point that he was trembling and struggling against Blaise's hold on him, unable to form even the smallest sentence past the need to shove a blade down the man's throat. Or into any part of him, really.

"Hey, you don't have to thank me." The wizard said, shaking his head and crashing into the next pillar over, obviously misunderstanding the situation entirely. Anton's rage had already drawn Pansy's attention, and she and Lucius were making their way towards them through the mostly-oblivious crowd. "I have plenty, a whole vault full. Maybe I could show you sometime."

"Really?" Blaise purred, and Anton froze at hearing that familiar tone, his mouth dropping almost imperceptibly and his fingers digging into Blaise's side. "And does a _whole_ vault hold a _lot_ of gold?" The purr took on a sultry edge, and Anton was as tense as a bowstring beside him, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"Oh yeah, yeah it does." The wizard smiled a toothy, lop-sided smile, pushing back up the wall to stand as straight as he could again. "I'm a rich, rich man."

Blaise resisted the urge to scoff.

"And you…you're this rich man's entertainment." He continued, unaware of the death that crept up on him from several sides, since Narcissa and Calanthe were also heading towards them now, as were Theodore and Sirius. Pity, the game was almost over.

"Am I?"

"You're not worth anything else, no matter how much you look like him." The wizard was suddenly scowling and leering at the same time, and the situation lost a bit of its amusement. "And you, the pretty little look-alike whore, will remember it when I'm fucking you into the floor and bruising that delicate skin."

Anton very nearly got away that time. And…Draco was coming, faster than the others.

"I really am the Zabini heir, you know." Blaise remarked casually, and the man laughed, leaned in, and tried to yank him forward by the front of his robes. Blaise moved not so much as an indrawn breath would have caused, shoved Anton away before he could rip the wizard's throat out, and heard the song drawing to an end.

"Sure."

"I am. Now, what did you want? Exactly."

"You. Fifty galleons to fuck you like the filth you are."

"I can't hear you, what was that?" Blaise asked, gesturing vaguely towards the bandstand.

"_Fifty galleons to fuck you like the filth you are!_"

How sad for him that the music stopped just as he screamed that lovely sentiment.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

If dark, utterly obliterating hell could be contained in a voice as cold as arctic ice, then it most certainly was right then, spilling from Draco in a venomous hiss that seemed to creep into the now-gawking people's bones, infusing them with a primal form of terror. He appeared in a swirl of silver robes the same color as his hair, metallic and gorgeous, and he was as mad as any had ever seen him, his eyes glowing bright enough to cast shadows before him. The wizard stopped breathing as Draco lashed out and destroyed the wasted haze clouding his mind, and his eyes widened impossibly as they cleared of the alcohol's drugging effects and truly focused on Blaise.

"Tsk, tsk." Blaise crooned, inching forward and whispering in the shocked man's ear. "Looks like you fucked up royally, doesn't it? And honestly, _fifty_ galleons? Is that all I'm worth?"

"I-I didn't k-know, my l-lord…"

"Oh, so you would pay even more for the real thing? Sadly enough for you, however, I have more than enough gold of my own to melt down and fucking bathe in every day for the rest of my life, should I choose to do so. Ah, and my love comes now, quite displeased with your treatment of his _whore_. You have heard of him, I'm sure? Draco Malfoy is hard to forget."

The man paled, trembled and shook and pleaded, but Blaise was now bored.

"I tire of you, and wish to be amused once more. And you…you're this rich man's entertainment."

He didn't like that mocking purr nearly as much as he'd liked the teasing one, and a split second later, he found himself ripped away and flying into a pillar several yards from where he'd stood. Anton, free to act since Draco had, leapt forward and grabbed him, sending him hurtling into yet another pillar, and Draco stood over him a moment after he crumpled to the floor again. Seething, claws sprung from his fingers, which he used to hook under the flesh of the wizard's back, dragging him to his knees before placing his other hand on the man's chest and spitting out a viperous, "_Crucio_." He made quite a show of that one, and no others dared to so much as glance at Blaise overly long for months afterwards.

Trust Draco to make it gruesome enough to cause even a room full of Death Eaters to grow queasy.

So no, the summer wasn't dull, and they found that Bella was even better company than imagined, since she stayed with them almost always, Rodolphus having been sent away to the States right after he'd healed. They also discovered that they no longer minded their fathers' company, and even enjoyed it as they once had, though the blind adoration had long since vanished. Calanthe also joined them often, their mothers less so, and Blaise wondered if he imagined the slight resentment in Narcissa's eyes when Bella would dash off on some hunt with them, cheeks flushed and eyes wild with excitement, instead of staying behind to brew potions for the coming war.

Not all of the witches did so, of course. In fact, most were like Bella, especially the younger ones. But Narcissa and Silana, while perfectly capable fighters and as deadly as any, preferred to stay behind and make healing tonics. While they would kill if they needed to, they preferred not to get 'all gory and disgusting', and their noses would crinkle whenever their sons and husbands and sisters would come home, soaked in blood and laughing madly, the rush they always got just seeming to agitate the two women. Although, strangely, the rules seemed to change when it was _them_ with their veela sisters, when it was _them_ coming home bloody and sated.

So maybe he didn't imagine it, but he didn't want to see any more of their mothers' minds than what he had to in order to make sure that they stayed true. And as for his own mother…well, Silana was just Silana, and whether she resented the time that Calanthe spent with them was questionable. And again, he just didn't care enough to look. He was much too busy with everything else to deal with childish impulses, especially from his parental figures, and he was sure of their love and loyalty, which was all that mattered.

Slytherin Quidditch try-outs took place a week before school was to begin anew, since Bole and Derrick had failed a year and had stayed on the team until they'd quit both after the last match, and their positions were only then available. Blaise easily snagged his desired occupation as a Beater, and the other was filled by a seventh year named Brendan who worked well enough with him. Draco was pleased, as he claimed to love watching Blaise fly, and Blaise haughtily told him that was fine as long as he didn't become so overwhelmed with his beauty that he forgot about the Snitch. Soon enough, school was starting again, and they went eagerly, for they knew what that year would bring.

Four years of planning and plotting and waiting, all toward one goal.

And she did not disappoint, gliding onto the train with all the grace of her fallen bloodline, her ruby hair longer and her charcoal eyes darker. Virginia was as ready as she would ever be, but they did not push it. No, they let her ghost around the castle with her twin brothers and their dread-locked friend, they did and said nothing until they were patrolling the dungeon corridors one night and felt the rings on their fingers tingle and whisper in their ears with the voice of their cherished night. They watched her short fight with two of the best that their ranks had to offer, and the fact that she was able to so much as faze either one was something resembling a miracle.

They interceded when they saw Pansy ready a killing strike with one of her lethal little knives, and Blaise caught Anton when Virginia lashed out again, since it was their fault Anton had let his guard down for that single second that had allowed her to take him by surprise in the first place. Pansy looked furious, but she stayed where she was as commanded while Draco and Blaise sealed a deal long in the making. Flesh, the key was flesh on flesh, and though they dampened the new bond so as not to frighten their vicious little vixen, it was there all the same, strong and sure and unbreakable. Their fate was warped that night, warped in and around her eternally.

She was purity perfected, and they worshiped her.

Had she not passed out from the overload of pleasure that she had not been prepared for in the least, she could have asked them for anything in those moments, anything at all, and right then, they more than likely would have given it to her without a second thought. She could have asked them to abandon it all, to give up their fortunes and status and darkness, but she never would have done so, which only made them adore her even more. How can you describe what it's like to feel the ice around your heart crack and shatter, the jagged edges of your defenses ripping through you and making you bleed, bleed until you wanted it, craved it, until you would debase yourself on hands and knees for the barest hint of it?

They were broken before her and remade because of her.

And Pansy, surprisingly, was the one who told them, albeit gently, to fuck off. Apparently, the binding had their eyes melting to those of cats, their teeth sharpening into fangs reminiscent of vampires, and their nails lengthening into claws that would do any werewolf proud. Not to mention the maelstrom of black energy that they were shakily leashing in and that was beginning to leak from them into the walls, and through those into Dumbledore's wards. It was certainly time to get back within their own, which weren't too far off. Telling Pansy to guard her as she would them, they kissed her swollen lips once more before bolting.

They'd barely made it within their wards when their control snapped and that power spilled out, calling the other Slytherins like an irresistible beacon, and they swarmed out of the common room and down the dark corridors toward them, surrounding them and marveling at the outpouring. They reached for the wavering darkness hovering in the air all around them, reached for it and tried to soak it in through their skin, looking quite awed. And it would have been quite gratifying had he and Draco not been fighting desperately to stop from leveling the fucking castle to the ground. They'd called up such power a few rare times before, but this was different, even stronger.

They'd always known she was worth it.

"Draco! Blaise!" That was Theodore speaking to them, no? But where was he? All they could see were stars and constellations, novas and nebulae, and they weren't entirely sure that they _wanted_ to see anything else. Ever.

"What has happened to them?" And that was Daphne, her voice as soft as her silky skin.

"I don't know. Where the fuck is Anton?" Theodore again, and someone was touching his shoulder, causing Blaise to jerk away as the infinite cosmic dance that he watched with such wonder began fading. Several of his Housemates gasped, and startled exclamations had the vision clearing from his sight even more.

"Their eyes!"

"What magic is this!?"

"'They're spies'? What lies do you spread now, MorAdden?"

"No, their _eyes_, you fool, their eyes hold galaxies! Look!"

"Have they been bewitched?"

"Cursed?"

"No, not cursed." And there was Severus, calm and cold as always. Blaise could almost make out his outline, the black, color-strewn heavens stretching ever farther from his grasp.

"Then what? What is _wrong_ with them!?"

"Nothing." Severus replied, and Blaise stayed still as he vaguely watched Severus kneel next to them, worldly colors beginning to come back. Draco's hand was gripped tightly in his own, and he had no intention of letting it go, as he halfway felt as though he might be blown away should he lose that anchor to reality. "Does it feel wrong to any of you?"

"No…"

"It feels…"

"Yes?"

"It feels…different. Dark, but oddly so." Theodore finished for the others, and Blaise wanted to laugh. They had no fucking idea.

"And what did you expect their love to feel like?" Severus asked sarcastically. "Sunlit summer meadows and bloody daffodils?"

Anton snorted and moved up from behind them, startling more than a few people. "Oh yes, Severus, that's exactly what _I_ thought. Because they're just _so_ the type that would woo their conquests with all of that romantic drivel. Picnics in the graveyard, boxes of blood-flavored candy…I'm swooning, I tell you, positively _swooning_."

"If I recall correctly," Severus said slowly, and Blaise was finally able to focus on his face, "that's exactly how they wooed _you_, you hypocritical prat."

Anton steadfastly refused to look at him, still smirking.

"Where in the bloody hell were you, Anton?" Theodore snapped, and Anton's smirk grew.

"Watching you give quite the uncharacteristic show of panic." He replied, and Theodore snarled. "Touchy, touchy. What _have_ we told you about that attitude, dear Teddy?"

Theodore pounced, knocking them both to the floor.

"I swear, they act like sodding children." Severus sighed, shaking his head as Anton flipped Theodore and pinned him to the ground, his dark hair framing sharp cheekbones and hypnotizing hazel eyes, while Theodore's sandy blond and aquamarine were a complimenting contrast.

"They are." Draco said quietly, and Severus looked a bit taken aback, both at him speaking and at what he spoke.

It was obvious that Severus hadn't thought of them as such in quite some time. Blaise supposed that when you were used to dismembering bodies and stealing souls with those 'children', then you had to think of them as young adults at the least, or even someone as dark as Severus might question what he was doing in letting them play, in helping them stain their hands an even darker, damning red. But to them, it was good to be damned, because what fun could they have in Elysium? Tartarus was sure to prove more interesting, and Hades waited for them there, that dark, fierce King on his throne of bone. Severus remembered that then, and the momentary guilt sifted away.

They went back to their rooms after assuring their Housemates that they were fine, and Melody, Sebastian and Daphne came with them, Anton and Theodore following later once they were able to disentangle themselves from one another, their ire having turned to more carnal pursuits than killing each other, though it was no less vicious. Pansy returned hours later, snickering madly to herself and mumbling something along the lines of, '_The_ _Fat Bitch remembers me, and is still quite sore about her kidnapping, though really, stealing her should surely count as three or four kids, yes?_' And Virginia, she said, looked quite up to accepting whatever they wanted.

So why, then, did they feel her dying less than an hour later?

The night stayed silent on that matter as it did on few others, however, and thoroughly trashed on spice by then, they forgot to so much as warn the others before they just disappeared, barely taking the time to grab their cloaks before they were gone and out the portrait. Daphne and Sebastian had wandered into the common room at some point, and clipped orders to stay there were all they heard before Draco and Blaise had vanished again. At full speed, they could cover a league in less than a minute, which was a feat even the werewolves couldn't best, and the air parted before them, offering no resistance whatsoever.

They were out of the castle in no time, the twisting corridors not a problem with their reflexes, but scaling the wall would take longer, and did, though that wasn't entirely their fault. Because every heartbeat seemed to make them slower, every breath seemed to make them weaker, as they felt her blood pouring from her in crimson waves. But they were still quicker than any others could hope to be, and they made it to the top of the bell tower before she bled herself dry, though she wasn't far off, and she was fucking _laughing_. Suddenly quite infuriated, as her life was anything but a goddamn joke to them, they wondered if Pansy's first suspicions had been correct.

But that couldn't be, because they could see inside her, and she surprised them yet again once she was healed. She already had a fascination with blood, which boded well for their plans, and she was more than willing to fuck in it, which was even better. She was like a pale dream in the moonlight, like some goddess come to earth with her luminescent eyes and her lilting laugh, with her fiery hair and her silky heat. Barriers fell around two and reformed around three, and the night screamed and roared and rejoiced, cloaking their sight with the same celestial haze that it had before as it bound them, strengthening the loose ties formed in that dank corridor.

It was then they swore their oath to her, the same oath Blaise had given Draco over a year before, and she replied and then returned it, her voice husky and strained and positively eminent. Any and all doubts crumbled into nothing, and they knew that she was most certainly ready, and that she could handle whatever they threw at her. So from that night forward, they held back nothing, something that they had only ever done with one another. She was like them, the only other of their kind, and she could survive what even their beloved Anton and Pansy could not, her tolerance for darkness deeper than any but for theirs.

So they drug her with them into a sweet, black hell.

The other Slytherins adjusted quickly to her presence, just as they adjusted to her twin brothers and their friend, the Jordan heir. They watched with blank eyes as she spun a web of sticky seduction and completion around their leaders, just as surely as Draco and Blaise spun their own around her. But the latter two could easily see behind their friends' courtly masks, and knew that they were more than a bit amazed. Because in less than two days, they'd seen the impossible more than once since the incident in the corridor, and now, almost a week later, they were actually starting to _like_ Weasleys. It certainly didn't take the three long to endear themselves.

The twins were devious and cunning enough that it was easy to forget they were Gryffindors, and Virginia…well, Virginia was special. The Slytherins and the other dark purebloods had always seen her spark and recognized it as being the same sort that they saw in Draco and Blaise, and when they saw how well those three sparks melded together, suspicions were fully confirmed and they silently celebrated. She had already started sharing in Draco and Blaise's connection to Anton and Pansy, a connection forged of timeless silvery blood and old, dark magic, and she was beginning to feel the others as well, those with Theodore, Melody, Daphne and Sebastian.

And she did, followed days later by her waking early one morning and saying that Jeran had been wounded, which Draco and Blaise had only sensed seconds before. It wasn't fatal, but it was bad enough, and when they left that evening as they always did to meet their Lord, they went to check on him. Giants were always risky creatures to mess with, especially during an internal struggle. He was lucky that all he'd received were a few crushed vertebrae, since it could just as easily have been his skull. Honestly, who tries to kill a giant with their bare hands and a single dagger? They asked him as much, to which he sneered and replied, '_You_.'

But that was beside the point. They weren't talking about _them_.

They shared _that_ opinion as well, and were then reminded that they were the sons, not the fathers, and that if Jeran wished to climb a giant like a tree, kill it for almost killing Lucius, and break his neck in the process, then he could damn well do so. They agreed wholeheartedly much to his surprise, before sweeping from the room and saying that they would be more than happy to inform Silana of such. The brief glance they then had of his look of dawning dread was quite satisfying. They didn't _really_ tell Silana, of course, since she truly would have come unglued, but they did tell Virginia, who was quite curious about her earlier experience.

Strange how she could sense their families better than most of her own.

Or not so strange, considering that all but two of the other Weasleys were weak, useless and _light_, whereas she was strong, capable and dark. It was only right that she share stronger ties with those most like herself. She asked about Bella a few times, and they only avoided the truth when she asked how it had been for her after she'd first been set free from Azkaban. They didn't like speaking of those weeks, didn't even much like thinking of them, and there was no reason for her to know what had been done to a woman that she'd heard only glamorous, deadly things about. No reason for her to know how that beauty had been ruined and marred, or how Bella had screamed in the end.

"She…her mind stayed whole. They could not break her." They finally responded, and Virginia cocked her head to the side.

"But wasn't it dreadful?" She asked, and they became still, saved from lying to their love by Anton, who understood all to well their hesitation. He'd stayed with his cousin and aunt during that process of healing, after all, though he loved them not like they loved Bella, as he himself loved Bella.

"She needed rest, rest and good food." He murmured, falling onto the couch beside them gracefully. It wasn't _really_ a lie, since she _had_ needed those things. She just hadn't gotten them at first, since rest was moot during that agonizing trial, and so was food of any kind.

Virginia nodded and dropped it, and they decided that she should get to meet Bella soon, since they knew the two would adore one another. Bella's approval or disapproval would also mean a lot to the first and second circles, though the Slytherins had long decided to accept her, the last piece falling into place for them early that winter when a third year was telling a group of her classmates about her older sister, who'd gotten hurt during one of the latest raids. Apparently, she'd been in Korea, harvesting muggles for their Lord, and one had managed to get a broken scythe between her ribs, puncturing her left lung and grazing her aorta.

"Yes, they're feeding her Blood-Replenishing potions constantly, because some local bacteria on the blade is stopping magic from working to heal it," the girl was saying, and Blaise felt his heart slow, a slight, familiar buzzing starting in his ears, and his head shot up, as did Draco's. "And the bacteria infected her blood, so they have to use Mother's. At this rate, she won't have any of Father's left!" She joked, but a shot of pure energy traveled down Blaise's spine, the first flames of true hope catching and starting to burn.

"Acacia." He spoke before thinking, and the girl froze mid-sentence, turning to stare at him with wide eyes. Her friends also shot him nervous glances, as each year, the younger students seemed more and more paranoid around them. It made one wonder exactly what sort of tales were spreading through the purebred circles.

Probably ones about fifty galleons, mistaken whores, and fingers later found in the punch bowl.

"L-Lord Zabini?"

"Say what you just said again." She was told, but it wasn't Blaise or even Draco that demanded it. It was Virginia, and Pansy nearly fell out of her chair when she saw the same devout, obsessed gleam that Blaise and Draco possessed mirrored in those ash-gray eyes. The girl looked confused and scared, but she did as she was ordered, while the older Slytherins watched Virginia carefully, fully aware of what they were witnessing. She was like her lovers, indeed.

"She won't have any of Father's left? Because of the potion?" Acacia sounded as if she suddenly wasn't sure, obviously thinking she was being tested, but it was not so simple as all that.

No, it had given them an idea, a wonderful, brilliant idea, and they set to work on it immediately. It would take years, if it could be done at all, but if they could take the base of that mentioned potion and change it, twist it a bit…then perhaps they could get rid of the muggle taint in mage blood. Maybe, just maybe, they could take the thousands that were tarnished by such and fix them, correct the fatal error that had begun centuries ago. A pure world…it was almost too much to ask for. Almost. And there would still be slaves, of course, since they would most assuredly have wrested control of Terra by the time it was ready, if it ever was.

And she shared that inspiration because she was one of them, not just because she'd already consumed so much of their blood. And she had most certainly done that, from that first night on, and she'd taken more than anyone else ever had in feedings so close together and lived to tell about it, while it strengthened her and pulled her own blood from its hibernating sleep, rousing it and making it remember what it was, what _she_ was. She aided them in their spells and potions and curses from then on, and they had never worked so well with any others, never needing to speak so much as a word, every movement and decision instantly understood.

The only thing that put their work to a halt was his and Draco's birthday a month later in the dead of winter, and every pureblood with ties to the darkness felt their full awakening that day. Within twenty-four hours, they went from being promising wizards who were already feared and genuinely respected at so young an age, to the two most powerful beings to walk the planet but for their Lord. Some even questioned that, thinking them even stronger than he was, but never aloud and never in Voldemort's presence. They were summoned that night, and they rose once more within the ranks, stepping even above the first circle and their fathers.

They became his executioners and his heirs.

With a promise to bring Virginia to him at the end of the year, he sent them off with a final reward. The removal of the last ban. Quidditch was theirs again to play as they wished, and Draco very nearly floated out of the Dark Lord's fortress on a cloud of sheer glee. He'd been waiting years to snatch the Snitch from underneath Potter's nose, and the next game against Gryffindor promised to be vindictively interesting. Which it was. They held nothing back and fucking slaughtered them, and Draco did indeed catch the little golden ball, stunning Potter and winning Slytherin the Cup for the first time in six years.

Severus was beside himself, prancing around like he owned the place and sneering at McGonagall every time he saw her, throwing some lovely, biting remark in her face with ecstatic abandon. And Potter…oh, he tormented Potter until Potions wasn't just insufferable for him; it was pure, humiliating hell. Draco and Blaise were more than happy to assist in heightening his embarrassment, and Potter still wasn't quite used to Draco having intelligent people at his back, so Blaise and Anton's rather wide variety of colorful remarks often left him gaping and spluttering as the Slytherins snickered madly, utterly adoring his discomfort and shame.

He would pay very dearly one day.

The end of the year approached quickly, and Bella came a week before they were to go home, stepping out of the fireplace like some fire-born, dark Aphrodite. Both she and Virginia were enraptured at the very sight of each other, just as he and Draco had known they would be. Emptying the common room of everyone but their six closest friends with barely more than a nod and a potent stare, they watched the two females bond over hours of wine and small, flavored cigars that cost more by the package than most people's brooms. And Bella confirmed what they already knew; under no circumstances was Virginia going to be forced to stay at that…place.

They'd already purchased the twins a home in Southampton, as they liked the both of them much more than they'd originally thought they would, as well as two shops, their dreamed-of joke shop in Diagon Alley and another, much darker shop in Knockturn Alley. They also set them up with open accounts at Gringotts, which drew off the Malfoy and Zabini vaults located there, and the twins didn't feel guilty about using their money after they paid for the privilege with blood oaths and soul vows. So they would be out of the…what did they call it? The Hovel, the Den? Some such pitiful nonsense like that, but regardless, the twins were leaving it.

And neither they, nor Draco and Blaise, would abandon Virginia there.

_End Flashback_

"Shadow! Your Highness, can you hear me?"

Who the fuck was bothering him now?

"We had to come to you, your Highness, for he has broken the law, and only you may judge him for this crime." That was the youngest Rookwood, if he wasn't mistaken, which he never was.

Opening his eyes slowly and gazing up, he saw that it was indeed Emeric, a youth of nineteen with brown hair and pink eyes, a result of his father mating with one of the noble dryads. He was flanked by two more palace guards, and the four Dark Knights standing watch over Blaise had shifted from their hidden nooks, making themselves very visible. It was a move that clearly proclaimed one very important thing: Blaise might be incapacitated due to the divine water, but he was in no way vulnerable because of it, for they were the deadliest warriors Terra had to offer besides the High Royals themselves. Only a fool would try their luck with a Dark Knight.

"You have his attention." Pansy's voice slithered from her deep hood, and Emeric nodded, pulling someone up by their hair. They were wrapped in magical restraints, and he saw that the man was Mandel Mulciber, a member of the third circle, though his face was blue and black and swollen almost beyond recognition.

"All know that Mandel was wed to Adalia Wilbridge seven years past." Emeric noted, and Pansy nodded, watching Blaise's face for her cues. She could read him as well as any when he wished for her to, and she put that knowledge to good use at times like these. Emeric knew better than to question her methods.

"Yes, to Daphne's younger sister." Pansy agreed neutrally. "Which is why you'd better start fucking explaining why he's in that condition."

It would have been much easier had Blaise not been in the Pool. A short glance would have told him all that he needed to know.

"He's in this condition, my lady," Emeric continued, a shade of rage passing over his features, "because he was caught in bed with a muggle slave."

Silence. Suffocating, terrifying silence.

Pansy's eyes bored into Blaise's before she finally spoke again. "Send for Daphne." One of the guards left immediately, and minutes later, Daphne appeared on the second level, leaping nimbly to the first and cocking her head at Pansy questioningly when she saw her battered brother-in-law. The situation was quickly explained, and Daphne's rage was a tangible thing, alive and necrotic.

"Bloody bastard—"

"Wait." Pansy said when she started to move for him, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. "Shadow must pass judgment." Daphne instantly stilled, though her eyes still swam with fury.

Blaise didn't hesitate, and let his wrath fill his own eyes until they shone like cerulean stars. Daphne cackled and jumped onto the banister, leaping the width of the Pool as if it were no more than a small stream and not almost thirty yards across at its slimmest. That was a dangerous stunt even for a Dark Knight, for they would die as quickly as any should they make a wrong move and hit the diamond floor or the ebony water, immortal or no. She had him in hand and had him screaming a second later, and Blaise closed his eyes once more, not caring the slightest as she drug him off to the Menagerie. He was one of the five High Royals, and they controlled the lives and deaths of every person living upon Terra.

They were gods, creation and destruction obeying their every whim, and they and their people both knew it.

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(snickers)…Anyway, review or I shall wither and die!


	8. Noxious Consort

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's _mine_, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

**Responses to Reviewers: ****tkmoore**, darling, your review was above and beyond, as usual. I'm very honored that you've stuck with me this long! **Sunday-Morning**,you are toooooooo awesome!however can I repay you? lol :P **sillysun**, thanks! hope the blaise-goodness is up to par in this one too, lol! **morphed**, yes, you reviewed and therefore I am certainly blossoming, lol. thanks, as usual! **MeghanBlack**, I'm blushing, and I hope this one doesn't disappoint! thanks! **Haunted-Shadows**, yeah, i've heard a couple people say theirs have been fucking up. you might wanna just re-do it. and thanks a million times over! **Tytianne**, more will be added. it's not quite over just yet! love ya! **Lithui**, thanks so much, and don't worry about it, lol. loved the review! **bigreader**, it's explained farther in this chapter, and let me know if anything else is buggin' you! thanks for reviewing! **Aleurier**, I agree! Death to all things besides their goodness! **Artemisgodess**, thanks, and they just sort of…come to me, I dunno. I drink entirely too much caffeine and don't get nearly enough sleep. that might have something to do with it… **Flower4444**, thanks, and sorry! there isn't really any order to it most of the time, lol. **Pia O'Leary**, it makes sense. that's exactly what I was going for. thank you! **AnitaBlake/BuffyFan**, thank you so much! love ya! **me**, don't worry about it, and thanksthanksthanks! **bobomiado**, and thank _you_ for reviewing! **LEGOSGURL**, sorry, and I will soon. thanks for reviewing! **gin rose raposo1**, (snuggles you) you're the best! thanks!

**Author's Note: **I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?

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Everything had once again stilled, the cold light of the stars endlessly fascinating, and the Pool had allowed him a brief respite before plaguing him with ever more memories. All he wanted was to be back in their workrooms, completing what had been so long in the making, completing that which they had designed and carefully perfected over the last century in a half until it was weeks away from finally being finished. The first one would be activated immediately, and after a century of tests with the real thing and not just theory, their true dominion would begin. A delicious tingle raced through him just thinking about it, and the urge to fight the Pool's hold grew stronger.

Until a voice that could make devils weep began a mournful melody.

The haunting, despondent words soothed him, made him relax once more as that familiar voice washed over him, and he opened his eyes slowly. The Dark Knights had drawn close to the one who could spin such a bewitching tune, spreading out at her feet like fearsome, murderous children with their weapons casting starlit shadows over their delighted expressions. None could resist it when a High Royal sung, as their voices alone could take you from despair to glee to heartache unlike any you've ever known, hitting the most basic and primal emotions within any soul. Their voices could kill or heal, honor or disgrace, and Virginia's was the most potent among them.

And he remembered her song; he'd heard it once before.

_Begin Flashback:_

The war…the war was glorious. It started after their seventh years, Virginia's sixth, and that year had been…quite satisfying. The Death Eaters had accepted her and her brothers, they no longer had to wear glamours, and Virginia left her family for darkness and devious delight. It was when she finally melded into the web connecting all of them that she truly discovered the depths of his and Draco's desire to fix the wounds left by those families whose bloodlines had been broken, and it became just as fierce a goal within herself that night, as well. The year went by quickly enough, and they were ready for the coming summer and the beginning of the end of muggle rule.

The planet would again belong to the purebloods as it hadn't in thousands of years, and their first strike took place two days after they returned from Hogwarts. London was obliterated in less than three hours, nothing left but burning plies of rubble and bodies, and lines of impure survivors were led out in magical restraints to transports that would take them to the slave houses where they would wait out the end of the war before being relocated. They did no more that first night, and did nothing to stop the flying bubbles that the other muggles came in to record them, to record what they couldn't believe. The other witches and wizards, though…

They hid in their homes, glued to the WWN and praying that it was a nightmare.

The next night the true purging began, and half of the British Isles fell to their armies in a series of simultaneous attacks. The muggles could do nothing, the Ministry barely even tried, and the Light wizards that drew together slowly realized that there was no stopping them. The weeks wore on, a constant high of battle and blood, and Blaise had never been so in his element before. Death and mayhem suited him, as did commanding thousands. Due to their strength, he, Draco and Virginia usually found themselves separated when working over the smaller cities and countries, but the larger ones…the larger ones they decimated together.

One such night was three weeks into the war, where they were wreaking utter havoc in the streets of Singapore, and it was the first they'd seen of each other in days, their joy making them all the more deadly. They'd been there for maybe half an hour when an unexpected band of Light wizards had shown up to try and help the muggles and mudbloods, their faces set in brave, heroic masks that would no more save them in the end than their misguided morals would. Word flew quickly through the ranks, shouts of Potter being sighted amongst them, and Draco and Blaise went to look for him, Virginia being preoccupied with a brothel full of drug dealers.

Blaise paused only long enough to whisper into Anton's raven hair.

"Guard her, my fearless one."

He didn't need to say any more, and Anton's short nod earned him a vicious kiss, before Blaise was gone and back at Draco's side. He, too, had had Pansy stay, and the twins flanked their sister as always. None of them took any chances with their dark little vixen. And she, though perfectly capable of taking care of herself, accepted their protectiveness with good grace, knowing that it was futile to argue. He and Draco soon met up with Narcissa and Jeran, the former of which had grown bored and the latter of which hunted Potter as well, and they soon found him. But someone had alerted their Lord, and he had made a rare appearance amidst the raging carnage.

He really should have known better by then.

They'd never really known what it was about Potter that muddled his thoughts so much, but it seemed as if every time they were face-to-face, the Dark Lord lost all common sense, letting his fury control him. It was the one thing about their Lord that they didn't like, because it was a weakness that usually made him look like a fool. This time was no different, as his rage colored every movement and word, and instead of just bloody _killing_ the little bastard, he had to ramble and preen, as if to make sure Potter knew that he was better, superior. And what bothered them was that he was, but he wasn't as secure in that as he usually seemed.

It ended badly every time.

"There's no escape for you this time." Their Lord was saying yet again, and Potter stood before him, a small group of Light wizards at his back, his wand held out and his face hard, though a bit of fear flickered deep within those toad-green eyes.

"You always say that, Voldemort, and I always leave the victor." Potter replied, and Draco stepped out of the alley that they were in, appearing at their Lord's side. Narcissa and Jeran followed, while Blaise stayed hidden, lost in shadows and waiting silently as the fighting continued all over the city.

"Enough of this. _Kill him_." Draco stressed, and Potter paled the barest bit, while Voldemort regarded Draco for a moment. If anyone else but for a small few had spoken so flippantly and demandingly, they would be writhing in agony. As it was, Voldemort paused, but continued as they'd feared he would.

"I will, just not yet. I've been waiting too long, much too long…"

"Then bind him, take him back to one of the manors, but this is folly!"

"_Silence!_" Voldemort snapped, and Blaise stiffened as Draco's eyes flashed momentarily before going dead and cold once more.

"As you wish, my lord." Draco sneered, giving a mocking bow.

One of the wizards with Potter laughed, a high, nervous sound that seemed to make something in Voldemort snap, and his hand lashed out, connecting with the side of Draco's face and actually making him stumble a bit, which let them know just how hard he must have hit him. Blaise snarled and moved forward, Jeran glared at their Lord in disbelief, and Narcissa's eyes began glowing a furious, bloody red. Draco lifted gloved a gloved hand to his face, the fingertips sheared off since claws tended to shred leather beyond repair, and touched his already-bruising skin absently. He treated it as he would a mark made from passion, not letting it heal as a reminder.

A reminder that could start a rebellion if Voldemort didn't tread carefully.

"You see what he does to me?" Voldemort asked quietly, adding just enough venom to his voice to make it creep along one's skin. "_This_ is why he deserves to suffer. He makes me forget even the things that I consider the most precious. It's the curse scar, no doubt, and it fogs my perception." He glanced at Potter, who stood stock still, wand still at the ready as he absorbed every word.

Draco said nothing.

"Come now, dragon." Voldemort continued, gliding a step nearer. Jeran put himself half in front of Draco so that he couldn't get much closer, which was very nearly sedition in itself, and Blaise thought that Voldemort put too much faith in Narcissa's loyalty by leaving her at his back after striking her beloved son. "You know I would never truly harm you."

"I do not fear you harming me." Draco intoned slowly, and there was more truth in that statement than Voldemort appeared to like, as every word seemed to bring them closer to some edge that they'd never approached before.

"You shouldn't." Voldemort agreed after a moment, and Blaise watched Potter start to inch away towards another of the many sprawling alleys.

A choice laid itself out before him, and he knew that he could stop the fool in a heartbeat, snuff his life like a candle flame and deposit him at Voldemort's feet. Or…or he could let him get away and let his Lord suffer another loss to Potter. Over and over, Blaise seemed to see that pale hand slamming into an even paler cheek, and his decision was made. All he did, as Potter crept into that alley, unnoticed by any other but Draco, was inch underneath loose mental shielding and wipe the memory from his and his men's minds. No matter how strained their relations at the moment, he wouldn't have tales of their inner circle fracturing spreading through the enemy war camps.

"Forgive me."

Blaise's attention snapped back to his Lord. Had those words really just been spoken? Had Voldemort truly just apologized? Draco's head tilted to the side in something like wonder, Narcissa's eyes bled back to blue, and Jeran moved slightly to the side. Their Dark Marks were pulsing, sending them waves of reassurance and remembered trust, and though it felt slightly strange, their apprehension melted away. Voldemort then discovered Potter's escape, and they left while he raged, Narcissa and Jeran searching for their mates while Draco and Blaise looked for theirs as well. She wasn't too far off, a league or so to the east, and they could feel her giddy excitement.

They were halfway to where they sensed her when an explosion rocked the earth, lighting the sky up a brilliant orange and causing a chorus of even louder screams to sound around them. People were rushing by, bleeding and crying and dying, and neither could stop their grins until Virginia's disbelief and distress swept through them, intertwined with Anton's pain. Abandoning the fighting in order to get to them, both shifted into hawks and crossed the distance quickly, landing and shifting back as they did so. Virginia knelt between two piles of burning debris, the twins held off those trying to reach her, and Pansy was lost in battle madness.

All because Anton lay dying.

He could survive a lot of things most couldn't due to how much of their blood he'd consumed over the years, but even he couldn't heal almost being blown in half. His midsection was nothing but red gore, flashes of white bone peaking through, and Virginia had his head in her lap, her eyes dazed as she murmured reassurances, not quite advanced enough in the healing arts to fix so much damage. There was so much relief on the twins' faces when they saw him and Draco appear that they would have known how serious it was even if they couldn't see it themselves. Pansy didn't even notice them as she brutally tore through any that neared, her dying love all she could think of.

They went to his side, crouching beside him and worriedly searching anguish-filled hazel eyes, and they wasted not another moment before laying hands ripe with dark power on him, sending that energy streaming through them as they sent out a summons through the silver rings on their fingers, calling the rest of those closest to them. Theodore and Melody came, as did Daphne and Sebastian, Parvati and Padma, their mothers and fathers, Bella and Sirius, Severus and Calanthe, Sethos and Lee…They came, and their rage resounded through the city as they did so, for Anton was adored by many. He was too strong, too pure, too cruel and too beautiful not to be.

And as they healed him, they silently asked entrance, brushing against his inner shields, which he opened to them readily. They saw what had happened then, saw Virginia through his eyes as she'd taunted the dealers and their whores as she'd picked them off one by one, and saw him watching her back, killing any that came within yards of her. He didn't only do it so faithfully because Blaise had asked it of him, but also because he genuinely liked her, was even starting to love her as his connection with her deepened. Pansy already did, but Anton had always been the more hesitant of the two, the more cautious. He did not love easily or freely by any means.

They understood, of course, because it was much the same for them. While they cared for a small number of people, scarce few of even those could claim their love. And half of those only had a bit of it, nothing that would cause too much sorrow if lost. In truth, they only loved three, not including Virginia, since she was a vital, intricate part of them and _love_ alone just didn't cover it. She was _everything_, not just that small, insufficient word. And it was just redundant to say that he and Draco loved one another, a fact long known by many. But three others could claim their full love, and Anton was one of them, as were Pansy and Bella.

Four held a true place in Anton's heart, and no more. Draco and Blaise, whom he'd loved the longest, Pansy, his lifemate, and Bella, who cherished him as he cherished her. But Virginia was weakening his defenses day by day with her constant black mirth and her acidic kisses, and what topped it for him, what made the largest impression and truly gained his respect (which was almost harder to gain than his love), was her loyalty to his best friends. Because they came first to him over all else, and in his heart of hearts, in the darkest, deepest reaches of his soul, he had already forsaken Voldemort and named them his only masters.

It was treason, and they were…touched.

So he watched Virginia's back for both reasons, for her and for them, and none made it near her without meeting a quick end. Then there was the explosion as they made their way out of the brothel, and what happened next happened in mere seconds, though it seemed to unravel so slowly before his eyes. The twins were fighting, curses flying with lethal precision, Pansy was a blur of steel as her short swords shone in the moonlight, and Virginia threw handfuls of darkfire that spread from person to person in engulfing waves. And then wizard with a gold sash of the Light tied around his arm broke past the twins through a group of terrified muggles.

Murder, grief and hate clouded his eyes, his wand lifted and a dark curse formed on his lips, and it was one that Anton knew all too well. Aimed at Virginia and designed to kill, it flew straight and true for her uncovered right side. Anton knew only a second of Slytherin hesitance, a second to wonder if her life was worth his, before Blaise's words rang through his head and he moved forward with a burst of speed, remembering her lips on his and her pledge of devotion. Then there was only pain, searing, burning, never-ending pain, and she was spinning, catching him as he fell and screaming in fury. The wizard died a moment later, his own wand blowing up in his hand.

Snapping back to reality, Blaise and Draco ran critical eyes over their work, the ruin of that muscled abdomen once more whole and ivory white. Goosebumps ran over it as they trailed cold, examining fingers across the firm hardness, like silk covering rippling rock. A waved hand had the trashed robes replaced with heavy velvet ones, since he would be freezing for hours yet due to the blood loss until they could feed him. He'd lost enough that had they taken so much as a minute longer, even their skills wouldn't have been enough to heal him. Hazel eyes slowly cleared, blinking long, bloody lashes, and he smirked when he saw them.

"Ah, my gallant princes came to save me." He crooned dramatically as Virginia brushed a lock of his long hair away from his face. "Here's the part where you tell me how pleased you are that I'll live and continue to grace you with my presence, and how crushed you were when my soul hung to my body but by a tiny thread…"

"You're fucking insufferable when you get wounded." Draco snapped, exasperated, and Anton snickered, burying his face in Virginia's thigh and watching them through dark locks of both her hair and his own.

"And I see the rest of the cavalry was called in, as well." He said haughtily, eyeing the others that had arrived and were currently engaged in what they did best. "It's so nice to be popular."

"Truly insufferable." Blaise muttered, grabbing him by the front of his robes and pulling him, albeit carefully, to his feet.

Draco rose as well, holding a hand out to Virginia, who took it and stood gracefully, her eyes glued to Anton, still slightly shocked. She would have expected such from Blaise or Draco, from the twins, Lee or Pansy, but though she counted Anton among her best friends, she hadn't thought he would risk his life for her. But he had, and she respected that, as did the night within her, and when their eyes met, the ties between them had a new strength, one both understood and accepted. Draco and Blaise exchanged a swift, victorious glance, the innermost web of those they held dearest bonding ever more, the lines between them nearing unbreakable.

Perhaps the closing completion of that moment can be blamed for what happened next, but regardless, they sensed the break in the ring of protection around them a split second too late to activate the charms they each had to stop bullets. Blaise only had time to spin, instinctively shielding Virginia, while Anton, who was still much too weak for such an action, did the same for Draco. They were driven by more than just conscious thought, following a primordial urge to _protect_ both of them in any way that they could, and if seven bullets in a line just under the heart was what was needed to keep them safe, then so be it.

They'd read up on muggle weapons and knew a machine gun when they heard one, and the damned thing cut through them in horizontal lines. The little metal missiles would have gone out the other side, but neither were truly human and their bodies made of stronger stuff than most. Virginia's horrified eyes met his, before twin shrieks of fury drew his attention as he fought to stay on his feet. Bella, Silana and Pansy had fallen upon the man wielding the gun in a whirlwind of veela death, and Virginia's arms wrapped around Blaise's waist a second before she Apparated them away. He laughed when they appeared in his chambers at Morte Nera, quite amused.

He supposed it probably wasn't all that amusing for anyone else, however.

Virginia had Apparated them straight onto his bed, and Draco appeared beside them a moment later with Anton, who still had a smirk twisting his lips, even though his eyes had fallen shut, his blood pooling thickly around him. Draco's eyes met Blaise's almost frantically, and Virginia looked like she was about to faint, the slight bit of color she normally possessed having faded completely as she watched their blood run freely. _Hah_, he thought absently, _maybe she knows how we felt finding her on that tower, now_. Then Draco was laying a hand upon his and Anton's foreheads, Virginia was laying hers on Draco's shoulders, and Blaise's world went black.

The next thing he heard was that song, full of Virginia's sorrow.

It changed gradually, though, and became clearer as awareness returned to him, the sorrow becoming wishful waiting and hope, healing and vigilance. It spoke of hardships and triumph, of sadism and sinful salvation, and his eyes fluttered open only to meet Draco's silver ones less than an inch from his, their bodies intertwined under a pile of rich furs. Anton laid curled against his back, Pansy wrapped around him, and Virginia sat at their feet, her eyes closed as she sang and as Bella brushed her hair. The twins were also on the foot of the large bed with Parvati and Padma, next to Narcissa and Silana, whose breathing was even and calm in sleep.

Theodore and Sirius were passed out on a divan beside the bed, Lucius and Jeran sat in high-backed chairs with tumblers of brandy in their hands, Lee and Melody were spread out on a thick velvet rug with Daphne and Sebastian, and Severus, Sethos and Calanthe sat stiffly on a couch, their faces drawn and white. Draco grinned, kissed him soundly and nipped his bottom lip sharply enough to make him moan slightly, and that slight noise had Virginia's voice dying as she turned to look at him. A million things ran unsaid behind her dark eyes, and for some reason, they had the night within him swirling, twisting, whispering its will.

He spoke before thinking, though his words were truer than most.

"You must wed before the next new moon." He said, looking at her seriously, and his eyes trailed to Draco. "And I do not wish to hear any more reasons for delays."

Both just stared at him, but nodded all the same, recognizing the hidden layers in his voice and knowing what had birthed those words, however unexpected they had been. He and Anton both demanded to be let out of bed within the hour, quickly growing bored with the chafing restraint, and they'd almost wished they hadn't when they went outside and saw the estate full of concerned witches and wizards that waited for word of their condition. They were summoned to their Lord's side almost immediately, and Blaise firmly kept the new knowledge gleaned from Anton's mind locked deep inside where even Voldemort couldn't find it.

Treason it may be, but it was treason bred from love of them.

The wedding took place a week and a half later, and though Draco and Virginia had been postponing it, trying to find ways to make marriage vows stretch to three instead of just two, Blaise had been planning it and everything was ready, waiting for his word. The ceremony was held deep in the woods where the wizards of ancient Gaul once worshipped, on a place of power, a dark fount of energy welling up from within the earth itself and spilling over. He had chosen the location well, for nothing less would have been worthy of his beloveds' union. A stream trickled through the dead center of the small clearing, and its gurgling melody complimented the ghostly band.

Fairies flittered through the trees, power-high and glowing a dark, eerie blue as they cackled and howled, their tinny voices nearly lost in the deep thrums of strings and the steady, primal pounding of the drums. Dementors encircled the area, mounted on acromantula, just far away that their cold wasn't too much to bear for the strongest of their kind that were gathered together, spread out through the trees in flowing robes of silk and satin and velvet, of angora and cashmere and suede. They drank wine laced with spice and laughed quietly amongst themselves, their thick, cultured voices making a music all their own.

A chimera and a manticore stood guard at the winding path that led to the gathering, and clabberts leapt through the trees from branch to branch overhead, chattering excitedly as they tried to catch the glowing fairies. Erklings laughed delightedly as they chased the pure children around playfully, knowing better than to eat them, and gytrash hounds ghosted around the perimeters with the Dementors and the Nundu, ever-alert as they guarded the purebloods during their revelries. The kappa tribe leaders had been brought to watch and guard from the stream, but they mostly just sneered at the clabberts, who were their 'disgraced, land-bound cousins'.

The mer-king and his queen also lounged in the trickling creek that had been deepened earlier in the day, drinking kelpie blood from conch shells and absently tying the legs of plimpies in tight, vicious knots before throwing them back under the water to sink. A bonfire burned high and bright in a small center clearing, salamanders racing along the logs, their bodies a bright blue from the heat, and an occamy eyed them hungrily, its wings beating over its scaled back slowly as it considered snatching a few. The sphinx elders were sprawled out close to the flames, cleaning their giant paws lazily, while the great wolves claimed the other side, snarling at them.

The nymphs and dryads flickered through the trees, moving from trunk to trunk teasingly as they sung with the voices of their Siren sisters, alluring and addictive, while the werewolves paced anxiously, sniffing everyone they passed and growling at each other, it being mere days until the full moon. The vampires, too, were affected by the swelling might of Luna, and their eyes glittered strangely, as if they held specks of glowing blood within them. The veela were swaying to the music, and many watched them with entranced eyes, even thought they weren't consciously bespelling anyone at the moment, their white hair and icy eyes reflecting the flames.

And they all, from the purebloods to the predators, waited.

Anton and Sirius arrived first, appearing before the fire in robes of scaled silver, bladed staffs of the same in each hand as they moved to the side, making room for Pansy and Bella, who came next in robes of glassy obsidian, staffs of their own clutched in fists with blood-red nails. Lucius and Jeran soon followed, their own robes of onyx sparking darkly in the fairy light, and Blaise ripped his eyes away from the seeing stone before him, taking Draco's hand and Apparating to the clearing he'd been observing silently. Each wore robes of engraved platinum studded with black opals, and their hair flowed freely down their backs and past their waists.

Emeralds had been braided into it with extreme care, flashing like green fire in ebony and mercury, and he started to pull his hand away, but Draco just gripped it tighter, shooting him a quick glare. The elite of their world were spread out before them through the trees, and they all stayed quiet as they gaped, soaking in the stunning, metallic beauty they were presented with. It took every bit of willpower he had not to sneer. He'd really thought he would handle this better, and while he seemed perfectly calm and composed on the outside, inside he was slowly starting to panic, which was a completely new emotion. Suddenly, it was him gripping Draco's hand as if it would save him.

But then she appeared, and that melted away for the moment.

She was utterly radiant in a sweeping robe of thin, plated rubies that hugged her like a second skin of scales, and it, too, was engraved with runes of power done in white gold, studded and shaped with black pearls. Her hair was her only veil, woven through with brilliant diamonds until it truly looked like their blood, scarlet and silvery, and kohl lined her smoky eyes, making them shine. Her small, black-nailed hand rested within the crook of Voldemort's elbow, and he looked like any other proud father as he guided her towards them. She appeared to float rather than walk, her every movement lissome and lovely, and they were as ensorcelled as always.

She glided slowly through the carpet of summer leaves and scattered jewels at her slippered feet, and her eyes moved between them lethargically, sedately, drinking them in as surely as they drank her in. It seemed an age before she reached them and Voldemort stepped back and to the side, his gaze still full of familial pride and something else, a hunger for the power this final binding would bring. Blaise, suddenly feeling as if he were being ripped forcibly in two, preformed his part and handed Draco's hand over to her like a precious offering. It felt as if he offered his very soul instead of that pale, slender appendage.

For the first time in his life, he felt like weeping.

Fighting for control and making sure that none of his inner agony reflected itself on his face or in his sapphire eyes, he kept his cold, uncaring mask firmly in place, even as he felt his frost-lined black heart slicing itself into sickened shreds. He was stronger than this, he told himself, surely he was. It was only a wedding, a binding, and he'd attended plenty. _But not Draco's_, a small, devious voice hissed in the back of his mind, _not __Virginia__'s_. Suddenly sure that he was going to be ill, it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to flee into the trees and find something to kill, to sate his rage and soul-numbing grief on.

"You come tonight to bind your spirits and your bloodlines with ties irremovable by any, mortal or immortal, and such oaths will be witnessed by the dark gods and remembered through time immemorial. Are you ready?" Lucius asked, his voice not entirely his own as he tapped into the fount of black energy underneath them in order to wed them as powerfully as possible.

"Yes." Draco and Virginia replied in unison, and Blaise shot them an encouraging smirk, though he felt like screaming and clawing his heart out, for surely that would stop this splitting torment.

"Do you have the binding bands?" Jeran asked, his voice as spectral and strange as Lucius's, and Blaise nodded, holding out one bejeweled hand.

Two bands of bloodstone and the wizard metal, ebentine, appeared on his palm, dark and glorious, pulsing with the magic he himself had painstakingly poured into them to ensure that they were perfect, just as he'd ensured everything about this night would be perfect for everyone but him. But those were thoughts better left alone to eat at him slowly, corrosively, and not ones for now, in this moment, while his beloveds' eyes shone with such delight and rapture. Plastering the most genuine fake smile that he could manage on his face, he kissed both chastely, wondering if they could taste his soul spilling from him in mutilated melancholy, before he spun and took his new place beside Anton.

Strange how the event that made his future broke his spirit.

"Take this dagger and with it split your shells, letting your essence free." Jeran intoned, holding out a bone-handled blade that Draco took from him with familiar fingers, and Blaise wondered if he could truly die from desolation. It certainly seemed like it.

Draco sliced his palm open and Blaise very nearly swooned, feeling his own hand flare with a phantom ache, one he knew that he would never feel again once his loves had bound themselves so tightly together that it overrode his own ties with them. Anton shot him a concerned look, which he sneered at, but that only seemed to make the crease in the other's flawless brow deepen as he moved minutely closer, placing a comforting, supportive hand on the small of Blaise's back. His hazel eyes reflected a bare piece of Blaise's pain, but it _was_ somewhat soothing to know that someone understood, someone that wouldn't judge him for this slip, this weakness.

He did his bloodline proud for the simple fact that not a single tear escaped him.

He was not yet that degraded, thank the gods, his pride and arrogance had not yet been so pathetically beaten down, and the only signs of his misery were his rigid frame, which was alive with an almost battle-alertness, and the blue eyes that should have been as joyful as everyone else's, but were as barren and desolate as a glacial wasteland. It was just as well that neither Draco nor Virginia happened to glance at him as she, too, sliced her palm open, because they would have been quite shocked at the freezing, murderous fury that was beginning to sour the forlorn wretchedness within him into something beyond darkness, beyond madness.

"Do any protest this union of two of our oldest bloodlines?" Lucius demanded of all those gathered, and Blaise wanted to shout not to fucking tempt him so, not to taunt him with such a desirable choice of refusal. He somehow kept his tongue, and the rites continued.

"Clasp hands and vow your timeless devotion." Jeran commanded, and Draco and Virginia did as he said, their bloody fingers intertwining as their eyes locked, and he was swamped with mixed emotions, finally feeling some sort of happiness, if only because their pleasure mattered most to him. But it was over-shadowed by the agony that threatened to choke him, and at that moment, death seemed like an all-too-blissful release.

"Forever in death, together in life, by the stars and the night, I claim you as wife." Draco's voice was liquid ecstasy to the senses, and he felt bile rise in his throat as he remembered that silver head crowded close to his when they were nearly sixteen, swearing to wed him one day as they flew high in the clouds over the Dead Sea.

"By blood and bone, by blade of knife, love as old as stone, I claim you for life." And Virginia, revered, worshipped Virginia, speaking her part with a voice of honeyed velvet that he seemed to breathe in and which lacerated his lungs, the whispered oaths to one day marry that had passed between them before he'd had his vision dying on now-deaf ears.

"Exchange your bands of bonding and know true consummation and completion."

Lucius and Jeran spoke as one, and they did as they were told, Draco sliding Virginia's ring onto her finger and then letting her return the favor, and the dark pulse that shot out from them felt like a thousand burning daggers splitting through him even as the others all moaned in something very different from pain. It shimmered and shook around them, ring after ring of that black energy leaving them as their faces contorted with fierce glee, and he…well, he felt as though he were finally dying, the connection he'd always had with Draco shattering around him and dicing him into bloody ribbons, shortly followed by the newer, but no less potent, one with Virginia.

His world unraveled, and for the first time in his life, he had no anchor.

Everything spun sickeningly, his stomach flipped and rolled, and a void began eating at his vision as it gnawed away on his soul. He was empty, bereft and lost, and he didn't even realize he'd called his boot knife into his hand until Anton grabbed his arm and pulled him closer against him, which was probably for the better considering that his legs were sure to give out at any moment. He looked down and half expected his chest to be nothing but a bloody, savaged hole due to the blinding torture that currently afflicted him, but the platinum scales had stayed whole even as he fragmented within them, his skin swiftly becoming as cold as his spirit.

"Sweet gods, Blaise." Anton murmured as his flesh turned icy, and Blaise knew then that Anton had expected this when he pulled him into a desperate, heated kiss, trying his damnedest to warm him up as he nicked his tongue and let his blood pool in Blaise's mouth.

But any sort of warmth at all seemed suddenly alien, and the blood, which Blaise knew had to be nearly boiling from all of the whiskey and spice that Anton had consumed, and which he usually found fairer than just about any other, was like clammy rot upon his own tongue. Jerking back, Anton paled at whatever he saw in Blaise's eyes, and Bella was suddenly there, her lips tight with worry as she drew in close to them. But Blaise only had eyes for his estranged loves, and he couldn't bring himself to care if Anton and Bella thought him ready to give in and fade from sorrow, which he just might be powerful enough to do, according to old, old legends.

Draco and Virginia were still lost in their connection, he was rapidly withering as none had in millennia, and his friends grew desperate, mumbled exclamations hissing questions on what to do, and Voldemort's voice vaguely reached him, saying that the only way to save him was by someone binding themselves to him before he passed beyond their reach. Several voices rose in agreement and offering, and another silenced them with an enraged snarl. Then Anton was shaking him and begging forgiveness as he sliced his hand open, shortly followed by his own, and Blaise wanted to protest, to tell them to abandon such a foolish plan, but he couldn't seem to do anything at all.

Pansy was stricken, urging Anton on even as it broke her heart to see him bind another, but she wouldn't die from her grief, and she now knew that Blaise would as his skin grayed and his eyes lost their dark sheen. Anton clasped their bloody palms together, and a faint surge pulled at him, beckoning him back to the living with a pull of pure blood. He fought it, resisted and strained and swore, but it was all internal, and as Anton spoke the vow that would both save and damn him, he felt his resistance beginning to cave under the newly-forming bond's crushing pressure. His lips seemed to move of their own accord, even as he struggled to stop the words.

"By blood and bone, by blade of—"

"Stop!" Frantic voices whipped through his skull, and startled gasps surrounded him before Anton was stumbling backwards, their hands untangling and the strengthening hold falling into nothing, incomplete.

"But you _can't_ stop it, he needs—" Someone that sounded like Severus started, but he was cut off abruptly.

"We know what he needs!"

Then Draco and Virginia were before him where he'd sagged against a tree when Anton had released him, and Draco leaned in, sliced his other hand and kissed him roughly, passionately, letting his bountiful supply of energy stream between them as their blood mingled. Blaise felt the smallest bit of feeling return to his flesh, quickly spreading from head to toe, and he wondered if it was a taunt or a fleeting reward. Fleeting, apparently, as those lips left his, but then another set took their place and his other hand was taken, Virginia pouring heat and life through every vein and nerve ending until both were moaning, before that warmth was gone and he grew cold once more.

Then both dropped to their knees at his feet and changed history.

"Twist fate with us, defy karma and kismet, without you we're heartless, with you we'll force the world to submit. Hollow in your absence, mighty in your grace, stay with us forever hence, eternally safe in our embrace."

They were rhymes spoken in a dialect that had died with Atlantia's fall, musical and flowing, but even he had never heard such words of binding before, words that, if they worked, did the impossible and bound three in a way that only two should be able to survive. He could only stare, wondering at how long they must have searched and hunted for such a thing, what prices they must have paid, before awe dropped him to his own knees and they held out a band crafted like theirs, but that he had certainly not made. And suddenly, he knew how to answer, how to accept, and it didn't involve long-buried languages, just a traditional, slightly altered, simple soul vow.

"By blood and bone, by blade of knife, love as old as stone, I accept and claim you both for life."

It was a night of magic and dreams and morphing destinies.

_End Flashback_

Virginia must have stopped singing hours ago, and she was curled up on his left, her hand tangled with Draco's on his stomach, who was on his other side. Both were actually sleeping, which was rare, and he again felt the same wonder as he had back then, a bone-deep sense of disbelief that he was damned enough to have them. And damned enough to have another, as well, one who was currently laying on his stomach on the first landing, one arm and all of that raven hair spilling over the edge precariously, his hazel eyes calm and languid as he watched them. Yes, he would always remember the sacrifice that Anton had been willing to make in order to save him.

"Back among the living for a moment, are you? The others haunt the eleventh level."

Blaise looked a question at him, and Anton replied with long ease.

"I don't know." He said, slightly exasperated and twining his hair between refined, artistic fingers. "Because I wished to stay? You always want to know answers to things that make me sound foolish."

Blaise sincerely doubted that was even possible.

"I suppose that I'll forgive you," he continued, sliding into a kneeling position in a single heartbeat, so controlled and lissome that all but a handful would have missed the movement completely. "But only if you take me on one of these…bridges, when they are done. I wish to see the stars in such a way. I wish to help you ensnare and surmount them even more."

_And you _will_, dear one, eternally at our side and sharing in our glory._

"I'll never really understand exactly _how_ you're doing it, but I understand enough to know that it's fucking brilliant. And how typical of you three that utterly dominating one world isn't enough."

_It's not as if you objected. In fact, I believe you celebrated._

"Regardless, I'll be there as long as you'll have me. And it wasn't all out of sacrificial loyalty, Shadow."

Fuck. Blaise hadn't meant to let him see _that_ much. And did the bastard _have_ to smirk?

The water…

_Begin Flashback:_

They had been thought stronger than possible as two wed together, but _that_ melding had them sinking ever deeper into their depraved, beloved hell, ever deeper into consuming blackness and dark, sublime bliss, and they were watched from there on out with something like revered terror. Anton was…_pleasantly rewarded_ for his selfless act of allegiance, and the three of them converging on him at once while they were still power-drunk and careless with it might not have been the healthiest choice, but it had definitely been the most satisfying for all involved. They reminded him, throughout a continuous day and night, exactly why it was good to serve them.

His throat was so raw from screaming at the end that he couldn't even speak, not that he had the minimum brain-functioning skills left to so much _think_ semi-coherently in the first place, and he'd been drained and fed over and over again until he'd been begging for it to stop and begging for more at the same time. Thankfully, _they_ were still sentient enough to at least know when to quit before killing him, and so thorough had they been that his skin was hypersensitive for days afterwards, the slightest brush of unspelled cloth enough to drive him slightly mad. Then their brief respite from the war was over, and it was back to days and nights of near-constant fighting.

They mended things fully with their Lord, their trust and adoration regained as they spent ever more time with him, and it wasn't until long after school had been canceled and winter had grabbed a firm hold on the northern hemisphere that Anton and the twins came running through the Manor one day, bursting into their rooms and interrupting Draco and Blaise's game of chess while Virginia snagged some much-needed sleep. Their cheeks were flushed and their eyes excited, and they ripped off their sooty robes and blood-streaked masks, the blank, false faces falling unheeded to the ground at their feet as curious gazes rested upon them.

"The Minister of Belarus has been found." George said with a impish grin, and Draco and Blaise rose in smooth, fluid motions, as did Virginia, who'd immediately awoken upon their entrance.

"Where?"

"_Romania_, of all places." Fred replied, stripping off his gore-soaked robes and then the equally crimson undershirt that clung to his skin, coming loose and raining little dry, brownish flakes over the floor that disappeared as soon as they'd landed, as had the clothes and masks.

Anton and George were soon disrobed as well, and Virginia had disappeared into the bathroom, where the sound of the waterfall could be heard, no doubt activating the warming charms and making sure that the house elves had restocked everything from the night before. The large pools that served as their baths had been full of mages well satiated from a long day of battle and bloodlust, and they'd stayed the few hours left until dawn appeasing their other favorite hobby: fucking each other stupid. They'd all been reduced to lazy giggles and weak threats by the time dawn was upon them, and they, too lethargic from killing and spice and sex, had decided to sleep there.

They'd awoken to Sebastian almost drowning.

So they'd agreed to try and at least crawl _out_ of the pools the next time, and some had gotten up for a while, stretching like cats and padding into the parlor to demand food from the eager little elves, while the others had done just that and pulled themselves from the water onto stones as soft as phoenix feather pillows. Magic was a delightful thing, especially when the alternative was rising to greet the scorching sun. Never mind that it was winter; that bloody thing was pure fucking evil no matter the season. He'd fight in it well enough by dampening the extreme sensitivity of his eyes and shielding his alabaster skin, but he'd prefer to forget that it existed at all.

Bloody fucking ball of light.

"You would think," Anton was saying, "that the fool wouldn't have picked a country that's mage population joined us in the very beginning. Ah well, he was probably trying to go for that whole 'hide in the open and they won't find you' drivel."

"And how _did_ you find him?" Virginia asked as she came out of the bathroom and the twins went in, still grinning roguishly. Anton shrugged, blood-smeared muscles rippling, and threw his own shirt to the side, the billowing silk sleeves ruined and ragged.

"The way I usually do." He responded as he made his way after the twins, and he leered as he passed, sneering lecherously as he brushed up against her in the archway, his soaked leggings and her thin night robe all that keep skin from meeting skin. She tilted her chin and looked imperiously down her dainty nose at him, her lips coiling in a smirk that managed to be warning and wanton all at once, and he took a liberty that only two others but for himself could have gotten away with and not paid for with their life, growling and stealing a quick kiss before he disappeared inside, his next words echoing after him. "I smelt him out and locked him up. Here's the key."

And a glimmering Gringotts key did flash through the air, Virginia catching it nimbly.

"Let's go then." She said, looking up at them, and they smiled slow, savage smiles, taking her cherished hands in theirs and Apparating away.

The goblins did nothing more then bow and offer to escort them to the vault, but they knew their way well enough through those twisting, branching passages, and they'd be blessed before taking one of those rickety-arsed little cars. So, moving swiftly with the aid of their marvelous little flight charms, ten minutes later found them in the very bowels of the place, where only the oldest, richest bloodlines held vaults. Dragons stood before each door and at the end of every hallway, but the dragons liked them, and for a small taste of their blood, they would have let them in any vault they chose, key or not, and so would the goblins.

It was one of the McGregor vaults that they entered, though, and Anton and the twins had certainly ensured that the man would be properly terrified. A lethifold hovered in the air before him where he sat chained to the leg of a sleeping troll, and the thin, black creature would lean in and brush its sides against the wizard every so often to get a little taste until it was later fed for its services. He nearly fucking wet himself when he looked over, eyes wide with panic, and saw who came through the door. One high, shrill shriek after another poured from his lips in between bouts of pleads in both English and Belarusian, pleads to the gods to save him from the Dark Lord's devils.

They were _fiends_, he said, fiends and sinners and monsters. And he was right.

"Stay back, foul demons, for my faith shall free me!" He finally choked out in a way that made some sort of sense, and they laughed coldly. A quick look inside him showed that he loathed male flesh, so Draco and Blaise were out for this one without completely breaking him, because they'd already decided how to work their way to Dumbledore's Secret Keeper. And they saw something else much more disturbing, something that only solidified their determination to rid the world of such nonsense, because it was not obscure _gods_ that he was praying to, but _muggle angels_. He truly thought they were demons, and _Christian_ demons at that.

"Truly? Then by all means, let it free you."

Nothing moved but for his shaking form and the hungry lethifold.

"It is as I thought then." Blaise continued after another few moments of a complete lack of righteous thunder and divine retribution. "Your…_faith_ will do nothing but make you die a more painful death."

"Silence, Abaddon, for I will not hear your lies!" He whimpered, and Blaise and Draco exchanged amused glances while Virginia snickered.

"What did you call me?" Blaise asked curiously, and the man seemed to puff himself up, as if Blaise had somehow confirmed his suspicions.

"Abaddon, Apollyon, Asmodeus, the angel-prince of Hell, destruction and ruin given form, the minister of death and the author of havoc on earth!" He cried, trying to make some motion across his chest with his hand only to draw up short because of the chains.

"It's quite sad to see a pureblood spewing such filth." Blaise commented dryly while his beloveds laughed at the indignant man. "However did you become so deluded?"

"It is not delusion, it is truth! The knowledge that will lead me to eternal bliss and timeless paradise no matter what you do to me!"

"Is that what they teach you?" Draco inquired, still sniggering, and the man nodded feverishly. "All right, then, we'll play your game and tell you if you're right. So, who am I?"

"You are Nero, Belial, Berial, the personification of evil, death and all things wicked, the prince of this world and of darkness, the destroyer of all!"

This was actually quite entertaining. Pathetic, but entertaining.

"And I?" Virginia asked, stalking forward slowly. He cringed back from her, nearly waking the troll, and sweat was pouring down his flushed face.

"You…you are Lamia, Lilith, the bitch wife of Adam and the mother of all demons, spirit of the night and queen of everything hellish and depraved!"

"Honestly," Virginia crooned, smiling a very unpleasant smile if you knew what fate it held for the one that it was aimed at, "do you have names for all of us then?"

"They told us about you when the war broke out and our priests saw through you to what you truly are. We know about you, you and your _Lord_, and we know all about what you've done to the Horsemen!" The last was squeaked as the lethifold moved in again at a silent command from Draco, who was smirking heavily.

"The Horsemen?" Draco questioned when the wavy creature moved back again, and the man's zealous faith seemed to drive him ever onward; it was as if repeating the tales told to him seemed to give him strength. Not that it would help him in the end.

"The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse." The man said, looking as if he wanted to glare but didn't quite have the balls for it. Perhaps he wasn't completely stupid. "We know how Satan twisted their minds during the last millennia that they've slept in their tombs, and we know that when the true Lord called them forward to wipe the abomination that is your existence from the earth, they betrayed Him and now follow you."

"Sweet Circe." Draco whispered into Blaise's hair. "Are you _listening_ to this? Where do they come _up_ with this shit?" But Blaise didn't get a chance to do more then sneer before the wizard rambled on.

"The twins, the betrayers, one soul in two bodies, they are the first Horseman split in halves, the bringers of death, the deceivers and conquerors, they who ride in on a white horse, bow in hand. The next two we did not expect to be female, but then again, perhaps they really aren't one or the other at all. Regardless, the second Horseman, the Black witch, she is war, the taker of peace, she who bears a great sword and is mounted upon a horse the color of blood."

All of it was said with absolute conviction, while Blaise simply tried to get over the image of the twins and Bella that his words had created. _Hmm, it's really not too far off_, he thought idly. _Except that Fred and George would never ride a _white_ horse, and Bella is most_ assuredly _female_.

"And the remaining two?"

"The next falsely claims herself a Parkinson, thinking to fool just as the second thought to fool, but we know her true identity just as we know the other's. She is famine, hunger, the third Horseman astride a black steed, the starvation of the righteous and devout. And the last…the last is her mate, the one who caught me, the forth Horseman atop his pale steed, and he is disease, sickness, the Black Death, plagues and Hell following after him."

"So I," Virginia started, looking quite mirthful, "am the mother of demons, they," she shot a pointed glance at Blaise and Draco, "are princes of Hell, and our closet friends are Apocalyptic Horsemen? And this is a…_common_ view among muggles and muggle-lovers?"

"The priests would never keep the people in the dark about such things. And once the war started…everyone suddenly began believing." The wizard said by way of answer, and Virginia laughed a delighted laugh.

"How wonderful! And our Lord, what about him? Surely you have a name for him, as well?"

"Of course we do." The man said, shrinking in on himself even farther. "He is the king of devils, the Lord of Hell, the accuser and the adversary, known now as Satan, the father of lies, and once as Lucifer, the star of morning."

It was suddenly no longer humorous in the least.

"You _dare_ to blaspheme by even speaking His name?" Blaise hissed, a dagger in his hand before he even thought of calling one in, and the man paled farther, tried to make that hand motion again, and started to cry when he failed.

"It _is_ Him then, you _do_ work for Him, God save us all…" He started mumbling to himself more than them.

"Your god is of no help to you here." Blaise snapped, all the while wondering why the muggles would have made one of the Underworld's darkest Kings into their…what had he called it? Their 'Satan'? But it mattered not, for he was a true believer of what he spoke, and had unwittingly handed them a marvelous weapon, never mind the sacrilege that it was based on.

"He will save me…s-save my soul…" The man faltered for the first time, seeing something in Blaise's blue eyes that he sincerely didn't like, just as he didn't like the dagger that impaled his hand, either. It pinned it to the floor and he began screaming again until a vicious curse had his lips slowly sewing themselves shut.

"Careful now." Draco tsked, the last having been his doing. "Or you'll swallow your tongue in truth."

The wizard's jaw wriggled wildly, his eyes rolling like one possessed, and Blaise began a game of serious mind-fucking.

"Think it." He commanded, gliding over to the man's side so quickly that he seemed to vanish and instantly reappear, and he let his shields drop. Not his inner shields, no, but the masking ones that kept what he was from petrifying everyone but a scare few with primal fright just by being anywhere near him. Letting the full force of his eyes bore into the man's brown ones, he let them bleed and shift and swirl in a mad dance of indigo chasing purple chasing black, galaxies seeming to form within them and evolve in a never-ending cycle of death and rebirth. The last was new, something that he and his bonded had only been able to call upon at will since they'd been wed.

It was no less effective for it being recently acquired, however.

"Think it." He repeated. "Think my name again, the one that you and yours so cleverly discovered."

'_Abaddon._' The thought was as clear as could be to Blaise's perception, and he gave the trembling wizard a feral smile.

"Thrice now you've called me such, so know that it is true, all of it. I am a prince of Hell indeed, my Lord's right hand, and Lucifer is more real than you've ever imagined. Trust me when I say that there will be a special place in Hell for you, courtesy of the one that you speak so scathingly about."

'_I…_' And the wizard's iron will crumbled a bit, letting in doubt because his mind wished to deny what it was hearing, as it was simply too ghastly for him to otherwise contemplate and stay sane. '_No, no, I was wrong, it can't be…can't be…_'

"Too late for that." Blaise mocked, and an absent thought had his shifter blood waking, huge, black membranous wings unfurling from behind him while a helpful trick of the night had his eyes turning a flaming red to rival Hell's fires. Fangs lengthened and sharpened, deadly claws sprung from graceful fingers, and it was a forked tongue that snaked from between black lips to flutter along the man's cheek. He could look demonic enough when he chose.

"Oh, Asmodeus, don't toy with him so." Draco playfully chastised, joining Blaise and stretching his own ebony wings, having shifted at the same time. An acrid smell reached them, and both crinkled their noses and backed away when they saw that the man had pissed himself. It was just so bloody _gross_ when they did that.

"Don't speak to me of toying with food, _Belial_." Blaise shot back as their fingers intertwined. "What say you we give him to our lady, now? You know how she loves breaking fools." He spared her a fond glance before glaring at the wizard again, who looked about ready to faint. A whispered spell stopped that from happening, ensuring he would stay conscious until death, and Blaise sneered as he saw the idiot's eyes widen in recognition and dread of that little piece of magic.

"What's wrong? Don't you _want_ to play with the demon queen?" Draco taunted, suddenly pulling the dagger free from the wizard's hand in a fluid, twisting motion, which had muffled screams trying to escape those stitched lips. Blood seeped from them, especially as he tugged on them in an effort to howl with pain, and even more pooled around the claw-like appendage that he cradled in lap, and where it had been laying on the floor. Draco dipped a finger in it, brought it to his tongue, and purred. "Old enough to keep." He said, and laughing and anticipatory, they took to the air as Virginia moved forward like a panther on the prowl, her body becoming her weapon.

And what a weapon it was.

The man sent fervent mental prayers and entreaties to his god and every angel he could name, but as predicted, none came to sweep him away enfolded in white-feathered wings and harmony. His clothes had been striped from him and his body thoroughly cleansed with spell after spell, and as hard as he tried to fight Virginia's bewitching allure, his desire was more than apparent. And he hated himself for that desire, hated himself even more than he hated them, and his mind started to break under the strain. He couldn't get over the fact that he was trapped in a vault with three _demons_, real, true, honest-to-God _demons_, and that the mother of them all was making him a heretic.

None could resist her.

She never even really touched him, but neither she nor her husbands needed to do so to bring pleasure bordering on madness, especially not to one so weak and unprepared for what darkness could do. Anton, for instance, required more flesh on flesh for him to become truly undone in such a crazed, keening, mindless way, while the little white wizard before them barely took more than ghostly psychic caresses and sharp nails raked down a thigh. The night overwhelmed him, conquered and claimed him, and she broke him like one would destroy a room full of china, snatching handfuls of his very soul from him and throwing them against mental walls, giggling as they shattered.

They circled above them throughout, taking tidbits of their own from him, enough to recite scripture from his Holy Book backwards and make him think that it was some horrible, archaic ritual to damn his spirit, aiding in the process of drawing forth that growing breaking point. Because he was starting to _want_ it, want it as he so achingly, desperately wanted her, while all they wanted was his bloodline. His mind snapped, the sweet, cold blackness rushed in, and he was remade at her hands, internally begging for it with everything in him even as what was left of his conscience screamed that she was tainting him, defiling him, corrupting him.

He rose a new man and told them exactly where to find their next target, still insisting on calling them by his demon names.

The Minister of Mexico was shocked to see them three days later, and he didn't have any aversion to male flesh, nor did he spew muggle propaganda at them. No, he knew exactly who they were, and as for what they were…well, he wasn't blind, nor was he stupid. He attempted to fight at first, but he fell under Blaise's spell as easy as any and was more than happy to tell them whatever they wanted, if only he could find _release_…He didn't, of course, since they'd already stolen the bit of information worth it from his mind, but he did tell them where several other leaders were before he died. The Minister of India was next, and Draco had him enthralled within minutes.

But then again, Draco had _everyone_ enthralled within minutes, no matter if they loved or hated him.

The third one's the charm, or so they say, and it held true then as the man screamed McGonagall's location over and over again while his children watched quietly from the hallway, having been the ones to let them in the house in the first place. The children they kept, the man they killed, and with an odd sense of foreboding, they found the old raven-haired witch alone in a hut in the middle of Australia. She didn't look as if she'd slept in weeks and she didn't seem all that surprised to see them, which piqued their curiosity. Had she known, then, that they would find her own Secret Keeper? She didn't appear to know much of anything, her eyes befuddled and her tea long cold.

"Hello," was her greeting, and it was devoid of any sort of emotion. Sweat poured from her brow, the heat outside and in her little…_cabin_ quite stifling, but it didn't bother them, for they were much too cold inside for such a thing to matter anymore. "And yes, I knew you were coming." She continued slowly, mechanically.

"Then you know what we want." Virginia pointed out, her face serene as she stared at her old professor evenly. She would kill her if she had to, and everyone in the room knew it. McGonagall looked at her, her eyes clearing slightly, and she sighed.

"You seemed so sweet as a child." She said, looking for any reaction to her words, but Virginia's face stayed an unreadable mask of marble-white skin, bloody red lips and ash-colored eyes. "Even though I knew it was a lie."

"Did you now?" Virginia humored her, and McGonagall nodded.

"Yes. My bloodline is nearly as old as yours is, if you recall. I could see it in you."

Smart of her to remind them of her purity.

"And I knew you were coming because the man you just murdered was my husband." She said it in a detached, distant way.

"You are not listed as being wed, nor is he." Virginia stated, and McGonagall smiled a small, secret smile. Or, it would have been secret had they not had the power to splay her mind open in a moment's notice. It was just so much more fun to get them to do it themselves.

"No." She agreed, setting her mug on the one table in the room, which accompanied a single, rickety chair and a small, threadbare couch. And…that was it.

He sort of felt as though he were standing inside his closet, but without all the clothes and with a severe downgrade in quality. And it smelled like bloody moth-repelling spells, moth-repelling spells and fear and grief. The latter two he was used to; the former made him want to rip out her fucking eyes. Of course, that urge probably had a lot to do with having loathed her for years and not just the smelly spells, although they seemed as good a reason as any. And whoever said that he had to justify such things in the first place? Truth be told, he didn't need a reason at all, because any who questioned him would die as well.

It was a marvelously efficient and productive rule to live by.

"We kept our marriage quiet after our son died because of our names in the last war." McGonagall kept on, though why she was telling them all of this, he had no idea. Perhaps she just wanted to tell _somebody_ as the Reaper neared. "We weren't married at the time, and we acted as though we broke apart from one another. But we didn't, and you killed him. _You killed him_." She looked at them as if that was supposed to matter somehow, even just a little. But it didn't, not to them and not to his chil…_Oh, this night turned out better than planned_, Blaise thought gleefully, because if she was telling the truth, which she was, then they had her children and she had nothing left to bargain with.

That thought in mind, Blaise wasted not another minute on the old bitch, tearing through her inner barriers and sucking free all he wished to know, ignoring her agonized cries. Dumbledore was in China at something called a 'monastery', where he stayed with other overly-aged men and worked in the fields all day to earn his keep. The old fool had vaults of gold, and he was living in poverty voluntarily without any guard whatsoever. It was just so…so…so _Dumbledore_ that it was vaguely sickening. They couldn't go to him just yet, as they were preparing for their last major attack on those who resisted their rule, but they _would_ go, and soon.

"Thanks so much, love." Blaise sneered viciously as he released his hold on her, and she slid from her chair to the ground, clutching her head and still screaming, tiny little rivers of blood running from her eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Now to finish the game. "So…what's this I see about you having children?"

_That_ got her attention, even through her torment.

"No!" She ground out through lips she'd chewed raw, her eyes pleading and cracking. "No, not my children, you callous bastard!"

Virginia backhanded her into a barren wall. "You will show him more respect!"

"Beautiful little things, too, aren't they?" Draco questioned once the woman's sobs had evened out, and she didn't even glare. Her children were _her_ breaking point, and unfortunately enough for her, they knew it.

"Don't…please don't…not my children…"

"And what will you give us for our silence?" Virginia asked in a sugary voice, smiling innocently and gliding over to McGonagall in a rustle of velvet skirts. The woman clenched and unclenched her jaw, opened and closed her mouth several times, and finally, another of the mighty fell from grace.

"Anything. Anything at all."

"_Anything?_" Virginia stressed. "Are you _sure_?"

"Yes!"

"Then tell us all of the details, all that you know of the Light's campaigns, generals and safety houses, as well as verbal maps of the underground cave systems that we know you and Dumbledore started working on before the last war. We want every weakness, Minerva, and we will know if you are lying." Virginia's grin turned nasty, and McGonagall, though looking nauseated and wounded, nodded.

"Fine. But promise me, _promise_ me that you won't touch my children, that you'll leave them be."

"I promise." All three intoned at once, since it was a simple enough request to fulfill. And it wasn't as if the words _meant_ anything when spoken to her.

So Minerva McGonagall, the proud Head of Gryffindor and hero of the Light, betrayed her people for love of her blood.

And needlessly, to boot.

Hours later, when she had even told them things that they hadn't gleaned through Blaise's violent scan, they handed her betrayal back.

"Lovely, darling, positively lovely." Draco crooned, rising and vanishing the divan he'd called in to sprawl out on and draining the rest of his wine.

"So, that's it? You'll kill me and leave my children alone?" McGonagall asked for reassurance. She really should have known better, but then again, she was a light witch and believed that everyone had some good, some decency within them. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Oh, about that." Blaise said, donning a mask of tragic regret. "We lied."

"W-_What?_" McGonagall stuttered, trying to get to her feet. But restraints slid around her wrists and held tightly, and she didn't see that they were serpents until she tried to claw her way free and scrabbled uselessly at their scales. "Let me go!" She screamed as more started pouring in from the shoddy windows and doorways of her tiny little hideout, pythons and tree snakes, taipans and copperheads, king snakes and brown snakes, tiger snakes and death adders.

"Now why would we do that? And don't worry so; they'll be well taken care of. We already have them, you see." Virginia explained guilelessly, a wicked light dancing in her eyes all the while.

McGonagall's face fell and her struggling ceased. "No. Please, sweet Merlin, no…"

"They let us in, scared not to and more curious than they'd admit, and they watched their father die without saying a word." Blaise spoke softly, and let her see the damning truth in his eyes. "We took them to Voldemort straight away, and felt them receive the Mark while you forsook your people."

"No!" She screamed as they turned to leave, sweeping out of the room now covered from wall to wall with writhing, hissing serpents. "NO!"

"They won't eat you quickly and the poison won't work nearly as fast as you'd like." Draco called over his shoulder, smirking devilishly. "Happy Holidays, Professor."

And they left her to the snakes.

Five days later, they'd wished they'd never fucking met her as their entire world fell apart with Dumbledore's death and the discovery of their Lord's treachery. Blaise would never forget seeing Draco begin to fall apart at the seems, overwhelmed with shame for the first time in his life. He would never forget the crushed, heartbroken look on Virginia's face as she watched her dreams shatter. He would never forget the raw, naked betrayal in Anton's heart or Bella's scarce, scorned tears. He would never forget Pansy's lost, abandoned stare or the twins' numb shock and sorrow. No, he would never forget or forgive, and he would have vengeance for them all.

And later, all he heard when Voldemort asked who would lead the people in his stead, all he heard as he silently asked his bonded the same, was the dry, raspy voice of a Dementor calling them Consort and King and the sound of water sluicing over ice. And Virginia…Virginia wished to rule, and who were they to deny her? They'd told her once before that they would flatten the fucking world at her feet if she wished it, and they'd meant every word. A new era began that night, an era of returned Royalty and dark majesty, and though they'd guessed at what they were before, they _knew_ that night. They knew, but it was not yet time for others to know the full extent of it.

So for two years, they brewed and spelled and stargazed under the pretense of looking for the hidden key to true immortality, the missing piece in Flamel's mixture. But they did not need to, for they were fully aware of what they were. The others had some idea, smelling the divinity, _tasting_ it, but they didn't know all of the side effects. So instead, they finished their work on the blood potions, the potions that would remove the impurity from those they chose to bestow it upon. And when they were done and the people used to their rule, they gave a live demonstration of their long-achieved immortality, and said that they had found the secret of ambrosia.

What no one else knew was that the ambrosia was simply the High Royals' blood, seasoned to disguise the flavor.

All that had to be done to share in their endless life was for them to will it so when they bled said blood, blood that was now blue since they'd fully awakened to what was inside them. And while it _was_ immortality for those that they bestowed the gift upon, it was not the complete immortality that they possessed, because they could strip it away should they chose to do so, which only a god or a Divine Pool could do. Nothing else could kill those they blessed in such a way, _nothing_, though they _could_ be wounded, and if not treated quickly, sickness could still grab a hold of them, and much more cruelly than it did for any other as punishment for neglect of their gift.

They did not lie when they said that they were gods, nor did they exaggerate.

_End Flashback_

"Ah, and the eyes slowly refocus, intelligence seeping back in…it's about fucking time." Was that Cruoris? His sight realigning to the present, he saw that it most certainly was, for no one else had those startlingly scarlet ringlets and those molten mercury eyes all mixed into one beauteous vision of perfection. "Come on, come on, submerge. I've been waiting forever."

Snarling, Blaise slid underneath the water, and the last of the cloying fog cleared from his thoughts, the past falling away once more into nothing more than memories. Surfacing, he pushed Cruoris under and sprung away. He would have made it past the little shit's grasp, too, had he not still had lingering traces of lethargy making him a nanosecond slower then usual, which was just enough. A hand tangled in his hair and pulled him sharply backwards, but Cruoris wasn't expecting for him to go back under, and certainly not as fast as he did. But truly, what did he expect if he wished to play a game of dominance?

As the Crown Prince to his Prince, it was his duty to let him have enough of a go to boost his already over inflated ego before reminding him who would win such skirmishes every time. So he sunk, sunk straight down after a mental command had a tentacle of the nearest creature winding around one muscled leg, and Cruoris let go, waiting for him to resurface. But he was hungry, and it _was_ a lesson, after all, so he took a detour and found a more savory denizen of the depthless Pool. One of the mermaids came as if she could sense his bloodlust, and they were one of the few breeds of creatures that thrived in the onyx water and weren't mutilated or deformed.

Her blood tasted like the sea and its deepest, darkest treasures.

It wasn't until he heard Cruoris alert the Dark Knights that his attention returned to something other than that smooth, blue-gray skin and those glowing yellow eyes. A female shout also reached his keen ears, followed by someone diving in from quite high up considering how far they sunk when they sliced through the surface, and he rose long enough to snatch his daughter by the waist and flip her around before she could even fight the movement. She let her eyes glow enough for him to see her glare, and he only shook his head before pulling her down with him. She eyed the water around them, obviously not wishing to cater to anything groveling.

'_Sooo_…_What, exactly, are we _doing_? Cruoris is going to have a fit_.' She said mind-to-mind, and he smirked in reply. '_Oh. Ohhhh. That's_ evil_, papa. And he'll get mère and Father._' ((mother))

'_Let them come. Your mother and I did this to Draco once. He ended up killing seven of the squids, thinking that they'd eaten us after six hours._'

'_Six_ hours_? You stayed down here that long?_'

'_There_ _are many things the farther down you go. But yes, and here he comes_.' They both glanced up as another entered the water, and Draco soon reached them, narrowing shining silver eyes at their mischievous expressions.

'_Cruoris says that you've been under for nearly an hour._' He said, looking at Blaise before those eyes trailed to Corpus. '_And that you dove to find him, only to vanish yourself. Not trying to drug your blood father now, are you?_' He asked suspiciously, and Corpus's mouth fell open the slightest bit.

'_What? And I wasn't…wasn't really going to…oh, you're such a bloody arse!_'

'_Me? You're the one who…who _molested_ me!_'

Corpus, quickly regaining a semblance of composure, scoffed. '_There's nothing left about you to _be_ molested, Father._'

'_Just_ _what in the fuck are you all doing?_' They'd all been just a bit distracted, and Virginia had snuck up on them. '_Never_ _mind, I don't even want to know. But I would come back up if I was you, or one of the Dark Knights might soon try their luck_.'

'_They know better_.' Corpus retorted, quite visibly enjoying the thought of her brother's turmoil. '_And_ _he'll dive before they do_.'

'_So you hope._' Virginia replied. '_But none of them have attempted it yet, and they only have our warnings, which might not be enough should they truly think something has happened to all of you._'

'_All of _us,_ love_.' Blaise corrected. '_But I suppose you're right. The twins might think themselves invincible enough._'

'_Or Anton._' Corpus added with a knowing leer.

'_I assumed that went without saying. Come, this is what we'll do_.'

He briefly explained, and though Virginia argued half-heartedly, she followed as they swam farther down, to a tunnel that they'd shaped themselves and that led to their rooms. Draco's blood opened the seals on both ends, and they crawled out through the bottom of one of the pools in their bathroom. Drying and dressing quickly, they headed back to the Divine Pool, by way of the teleporting stones. Appearing outside the enormous obsidian doors leading inside, they sent a thought to their Knights, telling them that they were safe and to pull back into the shadows without Cruoris noticing. They did as commanded, and Corpus shoved the doors open.

"Brother!" She called, and he abandoned his intent study of the dark water to turn and stare, his platinum eyes wide. "What holds you so captivat—" But Cruoris's swift spin on slick marble with, conveniently, silk slippers, sent him over the edge and into the water. And he somehow — a true mystery, this — managed to do it gracefully. That didn't seem to make any difference to _him_ when he surfaced, however.

"B-But…but you…and they…" He stuttered as he looked between each of them, and to their credit, they managed to keep straight faces. It wasn't every day that one could shock the Prince, after all, and especially not so exceptionally. He knew that one couldn't Apparate out of the Pool, and he and Corpus had known nothing of their maze of underwater tunnels. Then his cheeks flushed the barest bit, a growl trickled from his throat, and he shot out of the water and up one of the huge pillars. Melody stepped out to meet him, and Cruoris whispered something short and to the point. The Knight paled, seemed to think for a second, and finally nodded.

But not before shooting an extremely nervous glance at the other High Royals and Anton.

"Well, family of mine," Cruoris started venomously, "I'd been trying to gather you all up before you had your little lapse of juvenility so that I could tell you in a somewhat civilized manner, but I can see that that's not what we're playing at today."

"Tell us what?" Virginia asked, suddenly serious, and Cruoris smiled a malicious smile, flashing fangs.

"That I'm to be bound."

Bloody.

"To Celeste McGregor."

Fucking.

"Within the week."

Hell.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(cackles) I enjoyed that all together too much. Please review!


	9. Baleful Knight

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's _mine_, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

**Responses to my lovely reviewers: tkmoore**, oh, beautiful one, what can be said of your brilliance and might? nothing, I tell you, nothing that does either justice! **Sunday-Morning**, (faints over such a long, delicious review) you…are…a…goddess. divine and awesome and supreme…(sobs dramatically) I love you!! **sillysun**, thanks so much! love ya! **morphed**, thanks! I'm honored you would abandon homework for this! (gods, I'm such a bad influence…) :P **bigreader**, I'm glad that email helped, and thank you so much for reviewing! **Michelle Marie Maire**, thanks for reviewing, and I hope you like 'Unexpected', too! and behold celeste, lol! **otaku**** sae**, I totally agree about his hair (snickers), and I adore you for reviewing, as always! **Flower4444**, thanks, and nothing _happened_, I just have a strange mind, is all. lol **MeghanBlack**, thanks!! and that was quite creative. :P **LEGOSGURL**, thank you! **GinRoseRaposo1**, well, you get part of your wish, at least! and thanks! **Haunted-Shadows, that** he is, indeed! just wait! lol **Pia**** O'Leary**, thanks, and I can't say right now for secret reasons that you will discover soon enough, I promise! **AnitaBlake/BuffyFan**, I'm just happy you like it! thanks a million! **me**, I'm glad you liked that part! I cracked myself up with that, I must admit. and thank you for reviewing!!

**Author's Note: **I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?

……………………………………………………………………………………

Anton glared at Celeste, thoroughly annoyed. He didn't know who he wished to strangle more, her or Cruoris. The latter he was almost sure was only doing this to be a pain in the ass, and the former…well, he didn't know where they'd gone wrong with _her_. It wasn't that she was unattractive, no, because she wasn't. Blond hair feathered around her elfin face, her brown eyes sparkled, and she was as lean and trim as Corpus herself, though she lacked the Princess's muscle tone. That was mostly do to the fact that she'd never so much as picked up a weapon of any kind, unless a bloody fucking sewing needle counted.

And she was…well, she was _sweet_. She constantly smiled, cheerful and pleasant at all hours of the day and night, and she still had the voice of a little girl. It was baffling, since she was a vampire, but her instinctual cruelty didn't even surface on the full moons. She took only bits of blood to keep herself alive, and wouldn't feed off of the slaves, saying that it was wrong to make them give such a thing. The only reason she was even still alive after breathing such stupidity was the fact that she always added that it was only wrong for _her_, since she was so much lesser than the others of the Court, no matter what her last name was.

He would have liked to argue that last point, but it was true. She was the closest thing to a light witch left on Terra, much to her parents' shame. And, to top even _that_ off, she had the brainpower of a fucking slug. The utter lack of intelligence in her eyes still stunned him at times, and they were typically filled with no more than that good-natured happiness and a slight, constant confusion. She was even still a virgin at nearly two hundred, the games of the Court passing right over her, and she had never once called on darkness. She was the anomaly, the odd one out, and there was no way that she could hold the attention of one like Cruoris.

"What is it, my lords?" Celeste asked, slightly taken aback at opening her door only to find the three most powerful males in the Kingdom standing before her. Neither Anton, Ice nor Shadow said a word, and she pulled the door open father. "Come in, come in." She said, her sugary smile returning full force, and he resisted the urge to scream.

He really didn't like his sister.

"Now, what can I do for you, my lords?" She asked once they were inside and had refused her offer to sit.

"How do you even bloody _know_ Cruoris?" Anton demanded, not fucking around with pleasantries. She paled, her hands started shaking, and she looked at the floor, not that she'd dared meet their eyes so much as once, anyway.

"I…" But she couldn't seem to speak properly, and so she started crying instead. Anton just stared, unable to believe, yet again, that this woman, no, this _girl_, shared his blood. She was just so…_weak_.

It was vaguely sickening.

"Fuck, Celeste, it was a simple question." He snapped, and she flinched. With tears still streaming down her cheeks, she tried speaking again.

"I…I m-met him o-one day in…in the k-kitchens." She finally said, and she burrowed into her chair like a frightened animal at that admission. Ice sneered.

"The kitchens? What in the bloody hell would either of you be doing _there_?" He asked, his voice as cold as his eyes.

"He…he was…I mean, I s-saw…" Her face turned a horrid crimson, her voice died, and Shadow whispered something into Ice's hair. Ice smirked, regarded Celeste for a moment, and then rolled his eyes.

"He was fucking Lee?" He supplied with more than a bit of amusement as her blush spread. "I'd forgotten they had a thing for the heat of it, or some such."

"Y-yes." She finally replied, gaining a semblance of control back.

"But what were _you_ doing there?"

"I w-was…" She shot a fearful glance at Anton, before rushing on. "I was helping, I mean, I like to cook and they're always so busy down there, and I—"

"You were helping the slaves?" He cut her off viciously, and her trembling grew worse. "How many fucking times do we have to tell you…" He trailed off, utterly disgusted, and wondered why their parents hadn't just drowned her when they'd realized how useless she would be.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly, and he tried to remember that she was his sister, blood of his blood, so that he wouldn't snap and kill her. The weakness in her almost demanded it of him, and it grew harder every time he spoke to her. Cruoris was up to something.

"Fine. Now, explain why the Prince informed us of your betrothal. He told us of it just over a year ago, and we've managed to hold him off about it until now, just as we've managed to avoid this discussion with you as long as possible. But he says he will wait no longer, that he wishes to wed you before the next bridge goes up. Why? What could one as dark as he is see in you?"

"I…I don't think he sees anything, my lord." She replied after a minute or two, and he could see the grief it caused her. "He…he wants a child of our blood, and I am the only option to give him such, as you have only sons."

"And you've _agreed_ to this?" Anton questioned, slightly incredulous. "You, who has never so much as tasted of another's flesh? You would consent to a cold binding?"

"It…it was my idea." She said after a few seconds, and Ice snarled. Turning slightly green, she looked at him nervously before continuing. "He wanted…he wanted to…to b-breed with me, and I said that I would never do such a thing until I was b-bound, not even for him, though I…"

"You what?" Shadow asked vehemently. "For all I see is a scared little witch whose deficiency is about tie our son to you eternally. Surely you realize that we will not let him ruin his life so by submitting to a loveless binding."

"But I…I _do_ love him, your Highness."

And as Anton watched that love swirl up from inside her, filling those dull brown eyes with something besides stupidity, he felt the years melt away. There had been another set of mages in a situation all-too-similar at the end of the war, and their union had not been pretty. So many had tried to talk them out of it, had tried to save them from such a bleak fate, but the witch had been too consumed by affection and desire, while the wizard had been blinded by want of her blood. She had thought he would grow to love her, and he had thought it wouldn't be too bad, since he could still slake his lust with others. But they had been wrong, so very wrong.

The end of the war…yes, he remembered.

_Begin Flashback:_

It had all happened so quickly at the time. The discovery of Dumbledore's location, the final battle, the celebration and giddy success, Draco's disappearance, his finding of the abandoned monastery, his trek to Germany where Dumbledore had fled upon feeling McGonagall's death, the revelation that the old fool's mind had forced upon them all…It was a bitter way to end the war, a bitter, betraying way, and he hadn't thought, while he listened to Draco explain, that they would be able to recover from it. But then…gods, he'd only dreamed of such before. Royalty returned to the people, they were not leaderless after all, and Anton rejoiced.

The next few weeks were hectic, dedicated to getting everything in order and restoring the peace that had shattered months before, hell, _years_ before. Never let it be said that the elite of the purebloods didn't do anything but order others around, because they all worked their fucking arses off during those long days and nights. They had an entire planet to settle and soothe, and the plans made before Voldemort's fall still held, those sitting upon the Thrones the only difference. Within a month, everything had calmed and the rebuilding was to start, as well as the formal formation of the Midnight Court. Two days before that ceremony, Ice slid into his rooms.

"Anton…" He called softly, seeing Pansy and Daphne sleeping, and Anton untangled himself from their warmth, padding silently to where Ice waited. He could barely see straight, completely fucked up from the massive amounts of spice he'd indulged in all night, but he managed to stay upright.

The King took his hand and pulled him down the hall, smirking, before throwing open the doors to his own chambers and dragging Anton inside. The doors shut behind them, and between one second and the next, he found his lips covered with frosty ones and he moaned. Still drugged to shit, _that_ woke his mind up quickly enough, and he kissed Ice back hungrily as his back was slammed into the nearest wall. Chilled fingers traced over his bare chest and knotted in his hair, teeth nicked his tongue deliciously, and one of his legs was lifted in order to let Ice fit more perfectly between them. His hard length ground against Anton's, and the latter very nearly screamed.

Then Ice was slicing his own tongue open, and blood such as Anton had never even imagined crashed through him like unstoppable, ecstasy-inducing waves of sheer rapture and darkness. Every muscle relaxed, every nerve and vein was teased and taunted by it, and he felt as though he were going to burst, burst and die, and he'd never wanted anything more. Ice's hand slithered between them and under black silk, wrapping around him as ever more of that intoxicating hell slid down his throat, and he would have returned the favor, but he couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel and writhe and internally beg.

When he came, all he knew was the darkest bliss.

"Name a country." Ice whispered as he let them both sink to the thick furs at their feet. "Hell, name an entire continent, any that you desire, and it is yours, beloved."

"What?" Anton asked dazedly, his senses reeling and his mind little more than spicy, pleasured muck as the power of that blood changed him, strengthened him, indebted him ever farther to the High Royals.

"Your reward, love, your requital." Ice crooned, smoothing back his long, raven hair and kissing him once more with lips stained blue from Royal blood. "Tell me what place upon Terra you treasure the most."

"Europe, but not the Isles." He responded without thinking, still much too fucked up and out of it to be thinking anything like clearly, and he barely even understood what was being asked of him. What did it matter?

"Then it is yours."

That took a moment to sink in. "_What?_"

"Europe is yours, to do with as you wish." Ice replied, smirking as though he were the one being given such a gift, and Anton could do nothing but stare in foggy disbelief, contemplating if, perhaps, he was hallucinating. It had happened once or twice before. "Did you not think that we would repay you, dear one? Did you think that we would force you to serve at our sides forever?"

"But I—" Anton started to protest, until Ice kissed him again and he once more lost his train of thought altogether.

"The continent is yours but for the Isles, as requested. It's the least we can do, mon ami." Ice said silkily, and Anton let his head fall onto the other's shoulder as he attempted to process everything. He'd woken up, been immediately ravished, and was now being given thousands upon thousands of miles of the most beautiful land he'd ever seen. Forgive him if that was a bit staggering, even for him. But for what was he being so honored?

"For what?" Shadow asked as if Anton had spoken aloud, stepping from his namesake in a spill of black glory. "For what? For everything, what else?"

"But I haven't done anything." Anton pointed out, his scrambled thoughts still swirling wildly. Had they both finally finshed going mad?

"Surely you jest." Shadow sank down beside them, the picture of grace and constantly contained violence. "Ohhh, or perhaps not. I mean, all you've done is try your damnedest to keep our friendship and trust, to never fail us as so many others have. All you've done is fight for us, love us, and never once ask for anything in return. No, I see your point now. That's certainly not something to reward and cherish. How silly of us."

If sarcasm had a name, it was Shadow.

"But I do not need to be rewarded for such things." Anton argued as his mind slowly started working once more. "I was only doing what I wished to do, it was completely selfish really."

"Oh, yes, very _selfish_, indeed. And we are trying to _give_ it to you, yet you…Fine, if you wish to be all difficult and bloody _noble_, then I will aid in your decision. We need someone there, and if you will not accept, then who should we send to rule that sacred earth?"

Anton blinked. "But I do not wish to le—oh." A new thought pushed its way through him, and it brought sorrow and agony hot on its heels.

"'Oh', what?" Ice asked, amusement lacing his tone. Anton drew away from him slowly, trying to shove this new, disturbing epiphany somewhere that he could later torment himself with it. Although, truthfully, it seemed to be doing a fine job of _that_ all on its own.

"Nothing. I simply meant…It does not matter. I will leave on the morrow for Europe, your majesty." He said with his best courtly voice while wearing his best courtly mask, and then, though he would deny it to his dying breath if ever asked, he fled.

He was not proud of it, but there were very few things that could truly get to him and _hurt_, and no matter how irrational, he fled from one of them then. Because their rejection just might, no, it _would_ break something fundamental within him, no matter how prettily they phrased it. If they wanted him away from them, then he would go, of course. But he didn't have to like it, no matter how much he loved the land that he was being banished to. For banishment it was. What else could it be? And what had he done to deserve to be cast away from them so? He could think of no crueler punishment as he sped blindly through the halls.

He reached his rooms with his mind in complete turmoil, and he forgot magic entirely as he threw clothes into a bag carelessly, followed by a sack of gold, a diamond the size of his fist that he wouldn't sell if his life depended on it, and a few other personal effects that had been given to him by those he cared for. He shrugged on a robe of the softest suede swiftly, threw the stained silk pajama pants into the corner, and laced his boots with shaking fingers. Braiding his hair proved altogether too difficult and required way too much concentration, though he could usually do it in his bloody sleep. _Positively pathetic_, he thought acidly.

It ended up in a messy ponytail that left several stray, wavy strands to tickle over his cheeks and down the front of his robe, but he simply couldn't give a damn if he looked less than perfect. _Let the bloody Court hiss and whisper_, he though venomously. _Let them laugh over my fall from grace. They're not even a goddamn Court yet anyway!_ Grabbing his bag, he still had the sense to shrink it, and he froze, staring at his pale, black-nailed hand for a long moment. He didn't even think about using wandless magic anymore, he hadn't in a long time, it seemed. It had been one of the many privileges that had come from being favored enough to taste of their blood regularly.

_But no more_.

He supposed he couldn't resent the way that they'd gone about getting rid of him. It was just like Ice to give him a last, lingering taste before sending him on his way. He'd seen them do the same to countless others, but none that had stayed with them so long. _That could be because no others _have_ been with them as long_, his treacherous mind supplied, but he blocked it out. If he obsessed over it now, he would come completely undone in the newly-forming Court's center. He had to get out of Morte Nera. It was the unofficial capital until the rebuilding began shortly, and the entire first, second and third circles were in attendance.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He had to get _out_, get away. The walls seemed to be closing in on him, and he wasted no more time. Shaking Pansy partly awake, she was soon rising and cursing as he hurriedly explained, most likely looking quite crazed as he did so. But it was _Pansy_, so it didn't matter how completely frazzled his control was. No, all that mattered was that she didn't follow him. He didn't know what he had done to be displaced, but he didn't want her condemned to such expatriation with him, of that he was positive. She screamed and ranted and pleaded, begged him to take her with him even as she begged him to stay, but he made her promise, made her swear.

Then he was grabbing his weapons and ghosting back down the hall, the heat of her lips still stinging his. The shrunken bag rested in his pocket, and he strapped sheathe after sheathe into place as he forced himself to walk calmly down the numerous passageways, ignoring the curious, staring eyes locking onto him from every direction. The estate was brimming, it seemed, and he looked straight ahead as he slung his bow over one shoulder and strapped his swords across his back. The daggers were all already in place, twelve in total, and the heavy staff in his right hand was as deadly as any of the others when he wielded it.

He could not stay a moment more.

_End Flashback_

No, he truly had thought only of escape at that point. It was too much all at once on his spice-riddled brain, and he hadn't been altogether there. The thought of such estrangement had been unbearable, but if it was going to happen, then it would be sooner rather than later, for there was no way he could have survived living in a place thick with the memory of it, knowing that it would be any second before he was _thrown_ out, and that would have been…breaking. Looking up at Celeste's eager face, he knew what happened next, because it is what had drawn him into the whole stupid web of that star-crossed couple's unfortunate binding.

Their fate had been a vicious one, a truly nasty one even in his eyes, and it had started, for him at least, as he had neared that desired exit. Would that he had taken a different path, or that he had been more careful after his discovery and hadn't let the fool leech onto him…Because the chain of unfortunate events that had followed had been quite gruesome, and had even made Daphne, who was stronger than most people he knew, become physically ill. Because obsession breeds madness, and madness breeds all sorts of vile things when it latches onto a weak mind. But yes, it had begun in that hallway, and it would end in a glade over a body of a dead witch.

He should have just killed him then.

_Begin Flashback:_

"My lord!"

He ignored whoever it was, almost to the east exit and an Apparation point.

"My lord, please!"

Fuck! Why now?

"What?" He snarled, spinning on one heel and glaring, about a second away from murder. And Longbottom knew it as soon as he saw his eyes.

"You're leaving." The shorter wizard stated, and Anton sneered.

"So I am. What of it?"

"Has something happened? Do you need hel—"

"No." He turned to leave again, and Longbottom jumped in front of him, a pleading look on his face.

"Take me with you."

"I don't think so." Shoving him out of the way, Anton continued down the hall, noticing a few others gathering their courage to speak. Damn it!

But before they could, another did.

"Anton!" Theodore walked towards him from a side hallway, his eyes slightly wide at his friend's disheveled appearance. "Why do you leave so abruptly? Is there more fighting somewhere?"

"No." Honestly, all he seemed to have been doing since he awoke was repeating himself. It was certainly shaping up to be a shitty fucking day.

"Then what are you doing? The inner circle is supposed to meet in half an hour, remember?"

"Have fun." Anton snapped, and tried to leave again only to have his arm grabbed in a strong grip. Damn Theodore.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" He paused. "Oh, Pansy's being difficult, isn't she? Well, just do what I do and—"

"Shut up, Theodore!" Anton hissed, and the other wizard blinked, taken aback.

"Gods, you really need to loosen up. I was just joking. Now where are you going?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Fucking hell, Anton, one would think you were being exiled! Come now, whatever it is can't be that b—" But Anton had already ripped his arm away, growling and raising his staff in a way that Theodore couldn't misinterpret. His friend paled the slightest bit and backed up, before realization washed through his eyes and his mouth fell open minutely.

"No!"

"Fuck off." That time, no one stopped him as he took off down the hall once more, but Theodore's voice rang out behind him.

"Anton! Wait!" A muffled curse. "You two! Send for the High Royals! Run, you fools!" Footsteps quickly scampered away.

Damn Theodore into the brightest hell! He was out of the exit in less than a minute, and he didn't feel the hand wrap around his sleeve until it was too late and he was already Apparating. They came out in the Netherlands, near Almere where he had an estate. Spinning, he had a blade at the fool's throat before the other was even reoriented. Longbottom. What kind of an idiot _was_ he? Anton's knife had already drawn blood, and had been less that a heartbeat from slicing clean through. Pushing him away and knocking the fuck out of him for such impertinence, he contemplated what to do with him. He sure as hell wasn't taking him back, that's for damn sure.

"That was a very stupid thing to do." He stated wryly when Neville regained consciousness. He observed the quiet man as he hadn't in years, noticing how much better he looked than he had back then. Good for him. He'd be an even prettier corpse.

Or maybe Anton was just in a foul mood.

"I know." Longbottom agreed, wincing and lifting a hand to his bruised cheek and his split, swollen lip. He licked the blood away carefully, and slowly lifted his eyes. He didn't meet Anton's since he hadn't been given leave to do so, instead looking an inch or two off to the side. "But I…needed to get away."

Sweet fucking gods. He was in accordance with a bloody _Gryffindor_.

A very shitty day, indeed.

"Wonderful. So you decided to come with me _why_, exactly?"

"Because you were leaving. Because…I thought you might be able to help me."

Anton scoffed.

"I'll pay whatever price. I mean, look at the one I'm paying already." He laughed, and it was only slightly shrill, unlike when he'd first come to them. "It's just…every time I see her, I want it."

Eww. "Come again?"

"I want it, but not her. But she…she wants me, and I don't know what to do."

"You have five seconds to make sense."

"Her blood, I want it and I don't know why. I mean, it doesn't even make any sense. It's not like I'll be able to keep the children. At least not the first two." Again, that odd, high laugh. "And she wants to marry me. Won't consent to it otherwise."

"Someone…" He tried not to laugh. "Someone _wants_ you? Spare me, Longbottom."

"I know! Strange, isn't it?"

Sweet Circe. "You still have shit for confidence, don't you?"

"What? Oh, I…I don't know. I'm not like you and your friends. I don't have…"

"Don't have what?"

"Your looks, your grace, your power, your darkness, your…body." He looked away again, blushing furiously, and Anton smirked coldly.

"None of it matters, apparently. I wouldn't worry on it too much."

"_What?_"

Hmm, that really hadn't sounded at all like him, had it? "Just shut up about shit you don't understand, Longbottom. Now, who is it?"

"Millicent."

Double eww. "Then here's my only advice, and it'll cost you quite dearly one day, I can assure you." Anton looked him over again, sighed, and shook his head. "Don't bind to her if you don't love her."

"But you don't understand." Longbottom started. "And it couldn't be that bad, could it? Loveless bindings are rare, but—oh gods. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I forgot you almost—oh gods. I guess you _do_ understand. That was almost the same, wasn't it? I'm sorry, I—"

"No, you fool, it wasn't the same. Bloody hell, all you want is her blood, and all she wants is your heart. Completely different, actually. And it would not have been loveless." Then, with a chilling swipe of memory, he added, "At least not on my part. Now go the fuck away." There was an edge of a growl to his voice again, menacing and very clear.

Longbottom disappeared after another mumbled rush of apologies.

He didn't notice anything around him as he made his way over familiar terrain to his estate, and he slid through the wards easily after slicing his finger open with a fang. The land underneath him responded to his return, remembering the touch of his magic, which he'd poured into the gardens with the utmost care. Flowers bloomed early, the grass seemed suddenly greener, and he smiled a sardonic smile. Well, at least his old home still wanted him. It was a hollow comfort. And no matter how he tried to think of something else on the long walk up the drive, not caring to signal the servants to send a coach, it all came back to one thought.

_Why am I being sent away?_

No one else had been. None of the inner circle, at least. He would know. But they hadn't been, which meant that no matter how delicately it had been said, they did not want his presence there any longer. A reward, indeed. They could not truly think that this…this _alienation _was a gift! No, he must have simply grown boring, since he knew that he had done nothing to anger them. And what was this that he was feeling? It was strange, alien in itself, and he would almost say that it was akin to abandonment, insecurity…but that was ridiculous, wasn't it? He still had his family and his other friends, he still had _Pansy_, and he could live with that, couldn't he?

Unless…unless they all turned away from him now, of course.

He'd seen it happen to others. Reaching the manor, he waved off the rush of servants and house elves before sweeping up to his rooms, throwing most of his weapons on the bed — you always had to keep a _few_ daggers, after all — and leaving for his study and a few pints of firewhiskey. An hour later, he was two pints and three spoonfuls of spice down and even more wasted then he had been earlier. Everything was slushy and pretty and blurry, not to mention _sparkly_, and he soon had all of his mother's jewels in a pile on the floor, fuzzily playing a game with them that even he didn't understand. Then the wards tingled, accepted whoever it was, and spilled them out behind him.

"Anton McGregor! What in the bloody fucking hell are you _doing_!?"

Fire was pissed. Fabulous.

"Nothing." Hmm, maybe he shouldn't have said that. His 'nothings' didn't seem to be getting him anywhere good lately. She stalked around to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips and her hair in a million tiny, perfect plaits, reminding him of how he couldn't even finish a few of his own earlier. She was beautiful, and he was going to miss her horribly.

And he'd said that out loud. Brilliant.

"Anton?" She questioned, softer that time, her hands falling to her sides. Scooting the small mountain of jewels aside, she knelt beside him, her silk skirts pooling around her. "Whatever are you talking about? I'm right here; how will you miss me?"

He laughed sourly and just a bit madly, pulling away and draining the rest of his goblet. "Don't mock me. Please."

She cocked her head to the side. "Anton, Theodore wasn't serious when he said that you—"

"Gods, he does have a mouth on him, doesn't he? Bloody bastard. Maybe I'll bind _him_ to Millie and save the little one some grief."

Fire stared. "How much spice have you had?" She picked up the pouch lying on the floor next to him, peered inside, and gasped. "Goddess, have you gone _insane_? Is this the batch that I just gave you _yesterday_?" He nodded and nearly fell over. "Oh gods. Oh gods. This _can't_ be safe."

"What d'you care?" He snarled, stepping out of bounds completely, but the Queen's eyes only softened even more.

"They said that you ran from them earlier, that you were disappointed with our gift. Why?" She asked quietly, inching closer. "It hurt them, you know. They were only trying to please you."

"Please me?" He questioned incredulously. "_Please_ me? They cast me from them, from you, from all I know and all I want, and it was supposed to _please_ me?"

She looked slightly stricken. "No, _no_, it wasn't like that, dear one, we would never—"

"Then _what_? What else could make you banish me from all I love?"

"It is…it is a gift, it truly is, but it is also a choice."

He froze. "What choice?"

"We…I mean, you…" It was the first time he'd ever seen Fire lost for words. "Damn it, Anton! We just wanted you to have a _decision_ about serving for life! To know that we would never force you, out of all others, to do so! I don't think that Draco realized how much of this shit you'd had," she waved the pouch for emphasis and he'd wondered where the other two had come from, "and, well, you know that Blaise can be…_snarky_…"

"I am _not_ 'snarky', whatever the hell that means." A voice like liquid night slithered over his already frayed nerves, soothing and infinitely dark. Why hadn't the wards gone off? Or maybe they had. He really didn't know anymore.

"You two are idiots, is what you are." Fire snapped, shoving the pouch at Shadow and Ice as they appeared next to them. They glanced inside, stopped, glanced inside again, and blinked. Then they dropped down beside him, the expensive powder sifting over the rug, forgotten as they started checking his pulse and looking in his eyes, muttering about 'fucking McGregors' and their 'fucking addictions'.

"Congratulations, Anton, you're the first person to _poison_ yourself with spice in over a century." Shadow said darkly, and Anton wondered if he'd gotten paler, and when he'd acquired a twin. And why he was so _angry_, when he'd sent him away to begin with.

"It's your fault, you sodding prick." Oh yes, he'd definitely had too much spice. _Evil stuff, that. Never touching it again_…"Sorry. Sort-of."

"Fucking hell." Shadow muttered, tucking a lock of stray hair behind one ear with bloodstained fingers. Then he looked at him, and—wait. Bloodstained fingers?

"What happened?" He asked, immediately furious and wondering who, exactly, needed to die.

Because some of that blood was blue.

"Well," had he been sober, he would have seen that Shadow and Ice both looked slightly sheepish, "when the messengers that Theodore sent came…"

"…We were a bit upset already, and…"

"…They said something about you leaving…"

"…That you were never coming back…"

"…And so we killed them."

The last was said in unison, and Fire was snickering deviously.

"Oh yes, _killed_ them, indeed." She agreed sardonically. "More like you shifted and _ate_ them in the middle of the hallway for daring to suggest that you no longer loved him, and managed to cut yourselves up in the process." She looked at Anton, her smirk fading into a rare smile. "It was touching, truly."

"I don't…I don't think I understand…" And he didn't, because his blood was suddenly pounding inside his skull, everything was fading into black and white and gray, and she sounded farther and farther away as she spoke.

"Sweet, stupid, idiotic male." She crooned, biting his lip affectionately. "That's because these two were careless with their words and timing."

"Yes, that _was_ our fault, I suppose." Ice agreed, his voice like water trickling away at an alarming rate.

"We would have you with us always, beloved." Shadow whispered as just he started sinking beyond consciousness. "You're what's birthing our Dark Knights."

His last thought before nothing was, '_What's a Dark Knight?_'

_End Flashback_

Anton stepped out of Celeste's room, knowing what he had to do. He had to tell Cruoris the so-sad tale of Neville and Millicent, because Celeste was adamant that she adored him. His remembrances had made that much clear at least, because he recalled all too well what had happened between those two. He told Ice and Shadow of his plan, and they agreed. The Prince wasn't in the Palace or even on Terra, but up on the bridge encircling the planet like a bloody silver ring. A ring spun from clouds and sunlight and Royal magic. The very essences of light and darkness trapped within, full of power enough to branch more bridges from that one, bridges that could span galaxies.

You could smell the coming wars on the very air.

A transport took them up, a transport the size of a ship that was made from the same material as the bridge. You could see out of all four walls after a whispered spell, and watching Terra grow farther away so rapidly was thrilling and entrancing, but nowhere near as entrancing as the view once they broke through the atmosphere and into the cold, endless void of space. A city sat upon the massive bridge, a city that's shields shone a faint silver around it, like a dome of pure moonlight, and it was made from black marble that reflected all of those thousands of stars. When Shadow had first brought him, remembering his wish, he'd been instantly bespelled.

And he had been every time since.

And they would go to all of those stars eventually. It would take centuries, millennia upon millennia, but one day, they would hold the very universe in the palms of their hands. It would be the greatest empire ever so much as dreamed, and nothing could stop them. They could not die, and there was nothing in creation like the High Royals, they'd heard as much from the very lips of the dark gods. Their dominion was fated, written in the very stars that they would rule, and his lovely little train of thought only came to a halt when they landed at the Palace in the heart of the city. It was an easy trip to the Prince's chambers, a transporting stone obeying them instantly.

"Do I have your approval, then?" Was the first thing that Cruoris said as they appeared in his sitting room, and Ice sneered at him.

"Are you fucking kidding, you impossible little shit? Have you spoken with her for any length of time at all? You'd kill her within a week!"

"I will not." Cruoris said sulkily. "It's not my fault that he couldn't have had a daughter!"

All eyes turned to Anton. "What?" He backed away a step. "Who, _me_?"

"Yes, you!" The Prince snipped, crossing his arms and scrunching up his nose. "Father says I'll need an heir one day, and I know that's parent-speak for '_we_ _need your children to rule our worlds_', so I thought about it, and I only want children of your bloodline."

"Right. You stay away from my hair and blood, you strange little freak, do you hear? I don't fancy tiny clones of myself underfoot."

"Very funny, Uncle."

"I'm serious. After that incident with your sister…"

"But Father _caught_ her! And that…that was _Corpus_, not me! She was sick with it, I tell you, completely _deranged_…"

"Regardless, you helped her create that fucked up potion, which I'm _still_ convinced you used demon magic to brew, and I will never forget Ice's _face_…"

"But it still wasn't _me_! Nor was I the one that set grand-mère's hair on fire, the one that flooded Mist, the one that stole the Book of Necromancy and resurrected Pettigrew, the one that—"

Pettigrew. The slimy, sniveling, groveling little traitor. Oh, how Anton hated him.

_Begin Flashback:_

They hadn't even really been looking for him, too preoccupied with more important things at the moment, so it had been more of an accident then anything else that they ran across the rodent in Italy. Nearly two years had passed since the end of the war, and they were there for some party at the main Arcdine estate (he clearly recalled taunting Melody about being her Lord since it _was_ in Europe, no matter if she herself now held India or not), when they had decided, in a fit of extreme drunkenness, to visit the nearest city, Rome. It was nowhere near as grand as a Great City, but it was still beautiful after having been rebuilt, much like London and Alexandria.

They went with the intention of fucking around underneath the Vatican, having left the area mostly free of destruction, since even they had hardly believed the things found deep, deep down within those vaults. Treasure, heirlooms, legends of their people, all stolen and horded for gods-know-how-long beneath some muggle holy place. The Veil of Veronica Malfoy, with a gold plaque spewing something about someone named 'Jesus' underneath it, the lost Staff of Merlin, the Shroud of Slytherin and the Grail of Gryffindor, both of which had been lost and found several times since the fall of Old Rome, and numerous other things besides.

Things like books thousands of years old that the muggles wouldn't have had a hope of deciphering and that were still in perfect condition, the full skeletons of demons and dragons and the winged Atlantians of ages past, and a giant crest of ebentine with the symbol of the first Royal wizarding family. The edges of that masterpiece were engraved with those of the first fifteen Noble Houses, and it had been the first object removed from those hidden rooms. But they never made it to that dark maze of darker artifacts that was now heavily warded, because Draco suddenly stiffened in the middle of an alleyway, before a deadly smile glinted underneath his hood.

"I smell a rat." He said evenly, low enough that no one else but the four people at his back could hear him, and Anton and Pansy shared a knowing glance before shifting into panthers and setting off down the dark stretch of granite, immediately picking up the scent.

When the High Royals joined them, still in human form, they had him pinned by his tail and had changed into house cats so that they could chew his ears off. Slowly. Mousy little squeaks deafened them, but they paid them no heed, since the fear they were laced with was much too delicious. Their game didn't last long, though, because they knew whose victim this one should be. And maybe, maybe they underestimated his terror, or maybe they were simply too careless with their guard, but regardless, as soon as they released him and prepared to Apparate, he changed back to his human form and hit Pansy's small, fragile body with his silver fist.

She yowled and then hit the limestone wall over eight feet away with a series of sickening cracks, and Anton's vision lined itself in furious scarlet and swirling ebony. Shifting back, he had the fat little man's throat in hand a second later, watching with satisfaction as he turned red, then blue, then purple…Then he was snatched away, someone was telling him that Pansy needed him more, and he was at his love's side, Apparating her the nearest Palace and laying her carefully on their bed there. For three days, he stayed constantly at her side, while the High Royals healed enough of her injuries to keep her alive, but her skull…

It was crushed; the entire left side smashed to bits.

'_She_ _should be dead_', they told him when the panic would start anew as she never seemed to grow any better, '_Our_ _magic keeps her here, but we know not if she will ever wake_'. Gods, how he wanted to kill that twitchy fucking bastard! _How dare he_? But he couldn't leave her like that, and no one had mentioned him since they had returned. And then, at sunset on the third day, he was summoned to dinner. It was not a matter of choice, the slave said, and he snarled and cursed, but he dressed all the same. He was enraged throughout it, as nothing worth his time had occurred, but he thought that too soon, much too soon.

He would never forget watching two people he loved murder each other.

And that's what they did, Ice taking off Shadow's head as Shadow did the same to him, and Anton had already leapt to his feet along with everyone else. He'd vaulted onto the table with one smooth, rushed movement as soon as they'd attacked each other, his mind reeling with shock and horror, and all the while, Fire sat sedately upon her Throne. But she slid from it when they decapitated each other, and he was screaming at himself, because he simply hadn't been able to choose. How could he pick one over the other? It was impossible, but that led to him watching them both die in pools of silvery-blue blood that was beyond beloved to him.

Or so he'd thought.

Because they didn't die, no, _they didn't die_, and he watched with more than a bit of awe as Fire put them together again in a grisly display that very nearly made even _him_ sick, considering whom it involved, and they…healed. It was improbable, true, it was _impossible_ even, but it happened all the same. Strange, stitched tattoo-like markings were all that was left on those pale throats, and he nearly hit them when he could move again. They were smirking, which meant that they'd _known_, and they'd done it anyway, making him (and everyone else) think that they had finally flipped completely the fuck out. How could they—

"Come, mon amour, let us go bequeath a gift upon your lady, hmm?"

He suddenly saw forgiveness in their futures.

And, oh, he _more_ than forgave them, and Ice…_changed_ Anton while Shadow _changed_ Pansy, and both marveled at the new sensations for hours, cackling about the texture of velvet pillows and snickering over how _very_ soft their Sovereigns' skin was. But it wore off quite a while later, fading into a dull roar of power, and he rose quite suddenly, demanding to know if Sirius had killed Pettigrew yet. Shadow shook his head and took him to Sirius's chambers, where he found that Sirius had been saving him until Pansy's survival had been determined so that Anton could play, as well. He'd known there was a good reason that he liked Sirius so much.

He was always willing to share, among other things.

They decided to be creative with the little rat's fate, and they laughed at his pleads. He'd gone along with Sirius in front of Potter once, thinking Sirius would forgive him if he did so, but Voldemort had been the only thing keeping him alive after that, and when he had been killed, Pettigrew had, once again, ran. But there was no running then, and he screamed and screamed and screamed as they cooked him alive on a spit, and he continued screaming long after he was dead and trapped inside that body. Juices and spices and fat bubbled and sizzled from the splits in his roasted skin, and they fed his flesh to banshees and goblins while he watched.

All they let remain whole and untouched were his eyes and mouth, because his torment was expressed so vividly and pleasingly by both, and he himself got to eat his own dick before he died. Once that had happened, all he could do was watch and feel and shriek as they smiled and gleefully carved him over several hours like one would a Yuletide turkey. They did not even need to keep his blood to repair the pureblood holes, since Voldemort had made him breed years ago. No, they simply enjoyed his torment and enjoyed damning his soul to a hell worse than any he could begin to imagine even more. They kept the silver fist as a souvenir.

Peter Pettigrew paid for his betrayal in full.

_End Flashback_

"So…" Cruoris started after things had settled down a bit again. "What was it that you came here for? I want the bloodline, and I will have it."

"Anton wished to tell you a story. The story of Neville and Millicent." Ice explained, and the Prince perked up.

"Truly? No one ever speaks of it but the older ones, and only then in hushed whispers. I've wondered about it for a while." He said eagerly, and Anton wondered how long that eagerness would last when he learned just what the very binding that he wished for could fester into.

"Neville was a Longbottom, as I'm sure you know since you've briefly met his son and his son's daughters, but even they don't know all of what happened between him and Millicent Bulstrode. Because you see, they, too, wished to forge a dead bond."

Cruoris stiffened, but said nothing.

"Longbottom only wanted her blood, children of her blood to be more specific, and she…she loved him above all others. She had since we were still in school, though many of us had forgotten her defending him then. But he cared not for her, and he asked me once, in the beginning of their end, if he should bind with her, because that was the only way that she would consent to bear his offspring."

Something flashed in those silver eyes, but still the Prince stayed silent.

"I told him not to, and he seemed to listen to those words for a while. But five years later found them marrying, and he, being mostly friendless, asked me to stay at his side throughout the ceremony. I did not wish to, but he appealed to the Court and asked for me to be his Priest and wed them. His request was agreed to out of amusement," he shot a dark look at Ice and Shadow, "and I did as commanded."

Cruoris motioned for him to continue, looking petulant and determined.

"At first, it seemed as though our worst suspicions might have proven false, but as more and more time stretched on and Millicent didn't get pregnant…the obsession ate at Longbottom, destroying his mind as the bond began growing…infected. It soured and rotted, and though it made Millicent even more desperate for his love, it made him crazed. Then, when she finally _did_ get with child, he appeared to even out again."

His words reached the cocky Prince, but he wondered if they would be enough.

"Twins, she carried twins, and it wasn't until her sixth month that complications arose. The bond…it had warped both the mother and the father, diseased them, and for weeks, she fought to keep her children. None of our healers could help her, for poisoned bonds are blasphemous things, and the gods do not look kindly upon the abuse of such a gift. She went into premature labor mid-way through the seventh month."

Cruoris wasn't looking at him anymore, and Anton prayed silently.

"Longbottom lost his fucking mind altogether that night. He stole her out of the healing rooms and took her to Salisbury, and she gave birth to one of the twins straight away. The other, though…the other took longer, too long for his distorted liking, so he called upon devils to aid him. They demanded a price, of course, and he carefully removed Millicent's eyes, tongue, heart and bladder, piled them on a flat rock, and sprinkled them with his own blood."

Cruoris was staring again, his knowledge of such rituals fresh in his gaze.

"Don't look so calm, Prince, for I assure you that even you would not wish to do what he did next. Because devils, as you know, are cruel, tricky creatures, and they cared not for what he wanted. They bent the bond's putrid pull to their will, and he cut the next child from Millicent's very womb, and the devils hungered, for they love a living child born of dead flesh. So he took the pure infant and sacrificed it as well, even though it had been what he wanted to save."

"What…what do you mean he _sacrificed_ it?" Cruoris asked haltingly. "That's horrible, the child being pure and all, but we use muggle infant blood in numerous—"

"He _killed_ the child, dear nephew, not drained it of a bit of blood. He ripped it apart piece by piece, and though I seem to be thinking of nothing else today, he devoured it and his wife's parts raw. We came upon him just as he cracked the head open and lapped up the insides, and I took the remaining child, who wailed and wailed over its twin's death, while Virginia and Bella unleashed a female's fury over such an act."

"He…he _consumed_ his _child_? A...a _twin_?" Cruoris spat, face twisted with disgust and horror, thinking of his sister, no doubt. And if their world had any taboo, it was the eating of one's kin unless specifically demanded in their last requests, not to mention a child of pure blood. It was a crime among criminals, a sin among sinners, and it tweaked several instincts within the Prince, none of the pleasant.

"Yes. Makes you want to run off and marry Celeste even more, now doesn't it?" Ice asked sarcastically, and Cruoris stilled for a long moment, before looking up with innocent eyes and a guileless smile.

"Who?"

………………………………………………………………………………...

This chapter was a bit late, but trust me when I say that there's a reason for it this time, and that you'll see soon enough. That is, if you…

Review!


	10. Fallen Star

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's _mine_, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

**Responses to my darling reviewers: tkmoore**, lovely one, supreme one, almighty one, I adore you as always!!!!** Sunday-Morning**, ah, but dear, how can I stop singing your praises when you leave such succulent reviews? you are a goddess, and you can't change that! :) **BlueJeanJunkie**, (gapes in awe of long, delicious review) omg! I so love you! thankyouthankyouthankyou! (faints and dies) **sillysun**, LOL! Thanks so much and that saying had me cracking up! **bigreader**, he was saying 'okay, I won't do it', lol. and thank you! **Lithui**, thanks (as usual), and of course we can! (woos you with a promise of something good very soon) **otaku sae**, thank you! love ya, as always! **MeghanBlack**, thanks!! and no threats? (pouts) I feel so unloved. :P **me**, you rock! thanks so much!! **Haunted-Shadows**, THANK YOU! you're just so the best! love ya! **mell8**, thank you! I'm _so_ blushing! **Pia O'Leary**, you just might get your wish, dearie! lol – and thanks for reviewing! **potatomaker**, 'evil genius', eh? (ponders this) I like it! (smirks) and I like you more! thanks for reviewing! **Tytianne**, well, now you get to see! hope you like! and thanks! **Flower4444**, thanks! I'm glad to hear it, and about celeste…well. poor thing. (snickers) **LEGOSGURL**, thanks, and merry x-mas to you, too! and yes, I will…eventually. I'm just a bit off track recently. sorry! **Morgan**, thanks, and yes, she is!!

**Author's Note: **I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?

…………………………………………………………………….

One thousand years and one hundred and seventy worlds later, and it had come to this. A scribe sat in the air before them, his legs crossed on nothing and his quill scraping across parchment, recording the one tale that their people knew nothing of. The beginning of it all on Terra, the capital of the ever-spreading Kingdom. So the scribe, sitting suspended as though he sat on a chair, leaned over the long table he wrote upon, grabbed a small handful of powdered gems, and sprinkled it over the drying silver ink. Eight dark scrolls lay rolled and sealed down the table's length to his right, and that number soon became nine as the one he'd just finished received its own bloody seal. Only one scroll remained on his left, and he took it up slowly, carefully unrolling it and very nearly purring, before turning to face Sirius.

Over the last five and half years, Sirius had become accustomed to seeing the faces of the Dinysi, which were so very much like their own, but so very different at the same time. The bone structure was human, high cheekbones and a curved jaw, and the body was as well, allowing them to walk upon two legs, though they had paws for feet. Their hands, though, they were also humanoid, with fully working thumbs and graceful fingers, but few similarities existed past that appearance-wise. Because a short, thick layer of striped fur covered them from head to foot, whiskers tickled their cheeks, and their lips and noses and palms were a dark, smooth ebony.

Their tongues ranged from crimson to purple, and the furred stripes came in every shade imaginable. But the eyes…they all had the same electric yellow-orange eyes, the pupils split and not a drop of white anywhere to be seen. They also had tails, long, curving, swishing tails with more strength than their hands, which they could kill an enemy with as easily as they used them for balance. The leaders among them were chosen by the addition of a second whipping tail, the females, who ruled since it was a matriarchal pride, had three. They were feline and ferocious, and they had been one of the easier species to dominate, offering little resistance to the 'pale gods'.

They had the capacity for magic, and they revered their new rulers even more for showing them how to access it, master it. Their planet was only one more in a long line of them, the six year period of settlement almost over before the High Royals moved on to the next, and those years had been full of ensuring the continued loyalty of the people. A net of pure darkness and divinity had been spun around the world itself like a second atmosphere, just as one had been around every planet that they now held, sticky and cajoling and demanding, a reminder of who ruled. Because those webs could be activated from wherever the High Royals were.

And with them, they could snuff entire worlds out with a whim.

Their power, however unbelievable, had grown ever more as their rule expanded, and it had…changed them. They had been utterly unique before, true, but now they were…it was hard to explain. They were akin to statues in some ways, moving, thinking statues, ageless and supreme and invincible. Their skin, when they did not will it different, was like the coldest white ebentine and just as impenetrable, and their hair more resembled their namesakes now than anything else. Shadow's black mane was just that, liquid, swirling shadows, Fire bore a sheet of shifting flames that drifted past her waist, and Ice littered frosty crystals like tiny diamonds everywhere he went.

Most of the time, they seemed only half-there, as if they kept one foot in the living Realm and one in some strange, cosmic void that only gods could reach. They only came back fully and completely, returning with all of their passion and fury and feral grace, when they were deep in a battlefield and unleashing their madness, or when they were fucking one of the few that they actually still loved. 'Still' because for a while, when they'd first started going so cold and distant and unreachable, none had thought they even remembered love anymore, not truly. And those few, those few they held forever dear, they had been so cautious for so long…

Until Anton, Bella and Pansy had snapped.

Cornering the aloof High Royals, the three had used every bit of charm and allure they possessed — which was more than anyone _should_, surely — as well as every ounce of adoration and faith and devotion, and for nearly two days, the Court had had not the living gods they had become among them, but who they had been, before. Before the first dozen planets fell before them, before the reverent prayers that fed them more than blood ever could had tripled, and tripled again, and again, and again…Before Fire could sing suns to sleep, before Shadow could rip open the fabric of space itself and breed an army from its licking darkness, before Ice could laugh and shatter stars.

For two days, they were simply Draco, Blaise and Virginia.

And then another night dawned, their flesh hardened again, their eyes unfocused, and they were a million miles away. But they were still _there_, somewhere, and that was enough for their Knights. And as for their children…Well, Corpus and Cruoris had changed, as well. Royal to the last cell, they were only known as Death and Ruin, their given names as forgotten to history as their parents' were. To all but the Dark Knights and the Royal family, of course. The Knights remembered, but they, too, had abandoned their birth names long before, rarely even using them with one another. They had taken names that symbolized all the Knights stood for, and they suited them.

Many weren't with them at the moment, but of those who were, each looked different as well. Older, somehow, even though they all still appeared exactly the same as they had over a millennium ago. Pansy, more commonly known as Fury, sat nearest the doors to the left, a Pensieve full of Potter's memories in her lap, staying as still as the portraits painted on the walls. The Queen's twin brothers, now hailed as Pride and Purity, lay gracefully sprawled on a divan, and Anton, Malice manifested, sat on a cushion at the High Royals' feet, idly carving runes in his skin and watching them heal without so much as a trace of a scar, bored now that his part was done.

"My lord, are you ready?" The Dinysi asked in its native tongue, and Sirius nodded, casting the needed spell on the quill. All he had to do was remember, and the feline creature would see it with him, and put it all to paper. Their story of the first years would finally be known, the years that made them great.

For him, his greatness began with Remus.

_Begin Flashback:_

He'd met the sandy-haired boy on the Hogwarts Express, and one glance had told him all he'd needed to know. Dumbledore had let a werewolf in the school, and Sirius was determined to befriend him. He knew lots of them, after all, old family friends, and he was curious as to who this strange, pure boy was. He found out soon enough, and he was captivated from the first meeting of their eyes. He found himself telling Remus all of it, right then and there in their compartment, partly because the boy looked so lost and partly because…well, just _because_. He knew, somehow, that Remus would never betray him, and his secrets spilled from him.

He told him things that only a scarce few knew, mainly just Bella, 'Cissa and Andromeda, things like how he was supposed to get into Gryffindor no matter what because their Lord wanted a spy within the House, about what they did over the summers and how fun dark magic was, and Remus listened raptly, shocked, horrified, intrigued and…hopeful. As if the world suddenly wasn't as lonely anymore, as if a thousand whispered, repeated lies were slowly being wiped clean, as if maybe, just maybe, he wasn't doomed to a life of misery as he was now. Sirius resolved then and there to never let anything happen to the beautiful wolf.

Their school years passed so quickly, it seemed, a rush of dark magic and deceit and rising temptation. The magic was to better serve their Lord, the deceit was for the other Gryffindors but for Pettigrew, who Sirius had known since birth, and as for the temptation…well. Sirius was no stranger to sex, especially by fifteen, but Remus…well. So he'd tread softly, so softly, until Remus had ended up mauling him one night right before the full moon. They grew stronger after that though they had yet to bond, and the following years and graduation were a blurry haze of spicy scotch, swirling blackness, and Remus's delicious skin.

Paradise.

But then, a few years later, came the night that changed everything. James…well, he hadn't known that James was going to die. He'd suspected, he supposed, but he hadn't known, not until James had opened the front door and Voldemort, Lucius, Jeran, Bella and Sirius had swooped in, hooded and masked but for the Dark Lord himself. They had set Peter up, of course, because Sirius could have easily agreed to be their Keeper and then betrayed them, but he needed an alibi for Dumbledore, and Peter was it. James had been so surprised, so very, very surprised, especially when he saw the signet ring of the Black family on Sirius's hand.

"S-Siri? Is…Is that you?"

Sirius said nothing, and Voldemort laughed.

"The last of what was Gryffindor dies tonight, and Slytherin shall rule all." He hissed, and James paled, glancing between Sirius's blank, white mask and Voldemort's haughty, imperial face as he started backing away toward the stairs.

"Sirius, please just say it's not you." Silence, then a wretched scream. "_Say it's not you, goddamn it!_"

"You never should have married Lily, Jamie."

"Oh goddess, no. No, Sirius, no…"

"Do not look so betrayed. I was never on your side to begin with. We just want the child, the mixed child. It can't be allowed to live."

Voldemort watched all with a sadistic, amused smile, obviously enjoying James's pain.

"No." James choked out, as brave as always even though darkness gathered in the corners of the room.

"Then run." Voldemort laughed again, high and mad. "Run, little lion, run and let us catch you."

James ran.

"Come, my fierce hunters, let us stalk our prey." Voldemort crooned, and they ghosted up the stairs, listening to James panic and hunt for his wand.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

And then Jamie was dead, just like that.

It surprised him a little, and he felt something like anger as though he were dreaming, but then Bella took his hand and laughed her own laugh, and he smiled. Voldemort gave Lily the option of moving, of giving them her child, but she didn't, and she died as well. But then…oh, all hell broke loose then, Voldemort suddenly exploding as he tried to kill the child, the disbelief and burning pain in their Marks, the grief and rage…It was all-consuming. They forgot the child entirely as they fled back to Lucius's Manor to try and stop the Marks' effect before it killed them all, and then word came, swift as sin, of Peter's traitorous intentions.

Sirius went after him, furious as he watched all of his dreams fall to dust, and he told Remus only that he was going on a trip for Jeran. And he found Peter, found him and knew that he would do it, that he would turn them all in, all of the people he'd called friend. And Sirius had a moment, only a moment, to decide if their freedom was worth his own. He could run, flee, but he wouldn't. No, he would make this sacrifice, for them, for Remus. No one knew Peter had been the Secret Keeper yet. So he blew the fucking street to pieces, not sure if Peter survived or not, not that it mattered after that. His loved ones would be safe.

And then, in a clear second of infinity, he realized that he would never see Remus again.

After that, all was blessed madness.

_End Flashback_

A debauched moan brought him partly out of the spell, and he turned to see Malice swallowing Shadow's cock to the hilt. The Molidon's eyes were lit with darkfire, his pale cheeks slightly flushed, and his teeth had sliced through his bottom lip. Few could affect him so, but if anyone could call the god back to his shell, it was the raven-haired nymph kneeling in between his thighs. Sirius realized it wasn't only the moan that had stopped the memory, but the fact that the Dinysi had frozen, its jaw slack and its tail twitching wildly, quill forgotten. Watching a High Royal was distracting and enrapturing enough even for a Dark Knight, but for anyone else…

Well.

And Sirius didn't worry long on him, because he, too, was enthralled by the sight before him, as were the others in the room. One marble arm moving with cold grace lifted, shimmered, and then it was just _alive_ again, strong fingers tangling in Malice's hair viciously and causing the other to moan around him, before he pulled him up and kissed him hard. Malice crawled fully into his lap with a single, rippling movement, his robes pooling around them like a spill of velvet night, and he licked the blood from Shadow's lips while his lord watched him doing so, treating it as if it were the key to life and death itself, beyond precious.

And it was.

Neither Malice nor Shadow were ones for genteelness and pleasantries, and for them, pain and darkness were necessary ingredients to any sex that was worth their time. Both knew the other from top to bottom, knew exactly what to do and how to do it to maximum effect, and neither wasted any time in reducing the other to gasping and greedy fingers, and Sirius admired the grace with which they did even this, mad with need. It was flowing, eloquent, even as it ensnared and devoured them. Malice sheathed himself on Shadow brutally just as Shadow's fangs sunk into his throat, and the Dinysi fell out of the air and to the floor with a 'thud'.

He scrambled back to his hands and knees swiftly, eyes still locked on Malice and the Molidon, his tail whirling and his pupils huge, and he lifted furred fingers shakily, brushing along the black energy wavering in the air. Sirius glanced over again and met Anton's glowing hazel eyes for the briefest of seconds. But those seconds seemed to stretch, and he saw many things, things that the shadows the Molidon was pouring into Malice through the bloody claw marks on his back were making him remember, and those things were reflected in those jewel-like irises. Sirius knew then that this was how what was left of Blaise comforted what was left of Anton.

Because he saw thousands of starry nights filled with rustling leaves and falling rose petals, thousands of nights spent out in sprawling forests filled with proud, slumbering giants and ancient gardens with their graceful, gothic architecture. Blaise fed Anton memories as Anton fed Blaise life, and when Malice moved in for the kill with an expert writhe and an utterly wanton moan, when Shadow screamed and Blaise came back, everyone in the room came with them. That voice wrapped around their very souls, drawing lust and want and aching desire up in a furious, unstoppable wave, and Sirius fell back into his chair, drained and sated.

As the spell tugged again, no one noticed the quill resume its path across the parchment without a single hand to guide it.

_Begin Flashback:_

He'd been avoiding him for weeks.

Five years into the new reign, and Sirius and Remus had had their first true fight since his escape. It had been bad, more than bad, and it had all been Remus's faul—okay. It hadn't been Remus's fault. It had been his. But still, it wasn't as if he'd _known_ that Remus really cared. Well…okay. He _might_ have known. But he had only over hated Severus because _Remus_ hated Severus, and when they'd worked everything out…But Remus wouldn't talk to him, even though he'd _promised_ not to take spice around sexy Royal Potion Masters ever again, but that had apparently been the wrong thing to say. And _that_ was an understatement of magnificent proportions.

So he sulked and moped until another Knight cornered him.

"You great _prat_," Pansy hissed in his ear, pinning him against the wall and digging the sharp tip of a blade into his stomach enough to rip his robes and draw blood. "I cannot _believe_ that you still haven't gone and talked to him. If Anton…Sirius, you are such an _idiot_. If you weren't so bloody pretty, I'd think your mother had slept with a Goyle."

"_Hey_—" He started indignantly, but she dug the knife in deeper. and he sucked in a breath.

"Shut up. Just shut up. Fix it, Sirius, make it better, because I will not, _will not_, watch you mope around from place to place a moment more! If this isn't resolved by dawn, I'll resolve it _myself_. Do – you – hear?" The last question was emphasized by nasty jabs of the dagger, and he wondered if she'd hit anything vital yet.

"You're a vicious little bitch, you know that?"

"Don't let Anton hear you call me that."

Then she was gone in a swirl of green robes, and he inspected the wound. He could stick two fingers in it! _Fucking females and their fucking attitudes_, he grumbled to himself. _They shouldn't be allowed weapons. I wonder if Ice…no, Fire might kill me. Damn_. There was nothing for it, then. He'd have to talk to Remus. He didn't fancy having Pansy murder him come morning. Concentrating for a moment, he sealed the wound and fixed his robes, before gliding down the hall purposefully. He waved off Sethos rather rudely in one hallway — he'd have to make up for that later — and finally reached Remus's rooms, raising his fist to knock.

"Go away." Remus's growl drifted through the wood before his knuckles landed, and he jerked his hand back.

Damn, damn, damn. This was not going to be fun if he was in a mood already.

Gathering his strength, he took several deep breaths and barged in. He easily ducked the vase thrown at his head, but the table was harder to avoid, and caught his leg, sending him crashing to the rug. Getting to his knees, a slew of pillows came next, followed by a bust that weighed more than the bureau. He narrowly missed getting smashed in the head with _that_, and he moved lighting-quick, tackling Remus to the floor. He didn't pull on his Mark or on the power of the Knights, as that would have been monumentally unfair, but he probably should have, because Remus was infuriated. Within three seconds, he found himself in the hallway, the doors slamming in his face.

He simply gaped for several long moments.

He didn't even get to say a word! And how had Remus _done_ that? That was awfully quick even for a werewolf, and—oh gods, Pansy was going to _murder_ him. He was fucked, so, _so_ fucked, and the low laughter creeping down the hallway like music didn't help. Anton, Jeran and Lucius looked all too amused, and he didn't have to ask how much they'd seen. Bastards. Bloody bastards. Bloody bastards with their silk robes and sleek muscles, with their—and that's what had gotten him into trouble in the first fucking place. _Must not think of Slytherin sex appeal_, he thought desperately. _Must not, must not, must not_…

"Oi, Sirius!" Anton snickered as they drew up to where he was still sprawled out against the far wall. "That looked like it hurt. You head hit the marble like—"

"Thank you, Anton, I think I remember, though."

"Well, someone's irritable. It wouldn't have anything to do with your three-week sulk, now would it? Its gossip fodder as is, Sirius. If you keep it up, it'll be legend how the mighty Knight was felled by the big, bad wol—"

"_Shh!_ Not _here_, you fool!"

"Ahh, yes, preternatural hearing _can_ be a bitch, can't it? Quite like my wife?"

Oh. Shit.

"Hmm, _about_ that—"

"Shut up, Sirius."

He seemed to be getting that a lot lately.

"Come on, you silly git." Hauling him up to his feet, Anton brushed off his robes. "You obviously need a different approach. This has Fire written all over it."

"_What?_"

But, apparently, it did. Because as soon as the situation was explained to her, she rolled her eyes and sent for Remus, much to Sirius's horror. She then proceeded to make them talk about it, and she blocked any items that ended up headed at Sirius's skull. She then told them how she saw it, which bizarrely made them feel about four years old, and sent them off to the baths to be pampered and where they could discuss it farther privately. Well, _mostly_ privately, since she ordered Lucius and Jeran to stay to referee in case they decided to be stupid again. They ended up staying in the baths for over three days, and didn't even know it until Bella came ghosting in.

"Come on, come on, you've been in here forever!" She admonished, throwing robes at them and tossing back a glass of wine, a house elf trailing her to refill it when needed. It did so then, and she tapped her foot impatiently while they dressed. "The Dark Knights are gathering to wait for Shadow's return."

"What? When did he leave?" Lucius asked, stretching like a cat, and Bella sneered.

"He left — with Pansy and Anton, I might add — over two days ago for Mist, and from there to go on a slave hunt, which you would have known if any of you had brains not placed between your legs."

"Oh, saucy today, are we?" Lucius drawled, sweeping past her and looking as immaculate as ever, as though he hadn't just been engaged in rather disheveling affairs for days on end. He brushed up against her as he passed and she shoved him away violently, to which he smirked knowingly. Jeran closed in on her other side, and when he was younger, Sirius had always marveled at the way they moved in perfect harmony. It was no less impressive now.

"Careful, lovely one, or you'll make him think that you wish for him to show you what that fool husband of yours never could." He purred, his lips brushing over her hair, and for the very briefest of seconds, Bella looked flustered. Then she snarled and those black eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I doubt there's anything that he, or _you_, could teach me that your son already hasn't, Jeran."

_That was definitely a point for Bellatrix_, Sirius thought, biting back the urge to cackle.

"So cold, love, what happened to you, hmm?" Lucius asked, sliding back up on her other side until she was caged between them. Sirius wondered how wise that was.

"Azkaban happened, you fucking moron. Why my sister married you—"

"No, not Azkaban." Jeran argued, somehow cutting her off and making it sound as though he hadn't.

"Rodolphus."

_And a_ big _point for Lucius_.

"Shut up, Lucius. You know not of what you speak."

"Don't I?" He spat back, genuine anger lacing his eyes. "I know that you only spend your time with the other Knights now, that you think the younger ones won't hurt you. Fire healed you, made the pain old and bitter, but you haven't gotten over it."

"Lu—"

"We miss you, lady."

Bella grew quiet at that simultaneous statement, and Sirius and Remus crept out, hiding their smirks with their sleeves. Remus growled at him playfully and shoved him towards the High Royals' rooms, and Sirius smiled, because the last shove he'd received from Remus had nearly given him a concussion, which was quite a hard feat to accomplish these days. He was soon curled up next to Daphne and Theodore, half-watching Sebastian and Padma embroil themselves in a game of war that sent small daggers at you when you fucked up and that ended in some sort of serious bloodshed every time. Although, _that_ was usually the result of the two that were playing attacking each other.

The rest of his attention was on Daphne, who had way too much clothing on.

"What the—" Parvati said just as the door she was standing in front of crashed open, and she jumped back just in time for it to pass less than a hair's breadth from the tip of her nose. Then Bella was sweeping in, trying her damnedest to scowl and failing miserably, and Sirius couldn't help but notice the soft, subtle glow to her skin.

He laughed.

…Which was probably not the wisest thing to do.

"And just _what_," Bella started slowly, venomously, gliding up to him with the eerie grace of a succubus (which he'd always privately suspected her of being) and narrowing her onyx eyes, "is so entertaining, cousin?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing." He said flippantly, testing fate. "But I _was_ wondering if you might do something for me. You see, there's this…_gift_ I wish to give. A 'congratulations and my condolences' sort of thing, for a recent conquest of theirs. So, if you happen to…_see_ Lucius and Jeran anytime soon, which I'm _sure_ you wi—"

Bella could hit _hard_.

"F'kin b'ch!" Oh gods, was his jaw _broken_? Well, whatever it was, it was bleeding. A lot. Spitting out a mouthful of blood before it could choke him, he saw four of his teeth on the rug, the world swam fuzzily, and he did the only thing he could since he couldn't hit her back. He stuck a blade through her thigh as he fell.

"Shit." He heard someone murmur, but he was too busy fighting off unconsciousness and keeping his eyes on Bella, who hissed and ripped the knife out, throwing it to the side before leaping on him.

He rolled, cursing her to the ends of heaven and back as he spat out another mouthful of blood, not particularly wanting to swallow a tooth, since several more felt loose. If he was a muggle and couldn't re-grow them, he might have killed her for it. He kicked her hard in the healing wound, feeling his own jaw re-knitting, and she clawed a row of bloody furrows down his side. _Deep_ ones, the sadistic bitch. He went for another blade just as she was on him, her hands around his neck as she straddled him, her hair falling around them to mix with his, the colors identical. His world started going foggy again, and finally, he lashed out with the power of his blood.

Black hit Black and Bella screamed.

She fell back and into Theodore, who had moved to catch her as soon as he felt Sirius draw on his energy, and Sirius spent the next minute relearning how to breathe. She'd crushed his fucking throat! Sitting up slowly, Daphne silently snickering as she helped him, he saw the others all staring at them and sneered. Ice cocked an eyebrow and gave him a look that clearly said, '_She's_ _going to be livid that you did that_', before resuming his study of the graceful curve to Fire's shoulder. And he was right. Bella was furious that he'd used his power as the Black patriarch, but he was furious that he now had three painful, slowly-healing wounds.

And then Narcissa entered, snipped a bit, and nearly gave them all bloody heart attacks.

She definitely could have chosen her words more carefully. Seeing both Fire and Ice suddenly start bleeding from heart wounds would have been bad enough without the frightening moment where he'd thought that he was about to have to kill one of his cousins for real. He'd seen the same brief flash of fear in Bella's eyes as well, and their momentary squabble disintegrated into nothing. But the Queen's brothers saw the Sovereigns' eyes flash blue, which meant that Shadow had been the one originally wounded, not them. And the Knights wanted to go, they _needed_ to go, but they were ordered to stay behind, and it was _maddening_.

Melody and Daphne stood utterly still in the center of the room, Theodore and Sebastian beside them, and all had gone cold, their blank eyes seeing everything and nothing. Bella stayed by Narcissa, her hands vibrating with the need to help, to guard, to protect, and Sirius went to them without a word. The same power he'd used against Bella minutes before he used now to strengthen them, and they all waited silently until Fire and Ice returned. All he could feel was snaking fury when Fire said that her brother had shot Shadow, and he knew, with a sick, delightful certainty, that Ronald Weasley would pay. And it would not be quick or easy.

And then…and then Anton and Pansy returned, with news of his godson's capture.

_End Flashback_

It was not a throaty moan that drew him back to some semblance of reality that time, but a tearful plea for mercy. It was with a bit of surprise that he registered seeing the Dinysi whimpering at Fire's feet, next to Pansy, who looked freshly fucked and had scarlet blood trickling down her throat, blue blood staining her lips. She'd apparently awoken the Queen, and that Queen was very, very pissed off about something. The twins were oblivious, a half-awake Ice more than consuming their…_attention_, and Shadow and Malice looked as enraged as Fire. The Dinysi had his tail tucked tight, his face against the floor, and he seemed about a second away from heart failure.

Hmm. Sirius had certainly missed something.

"You dare to touch me?" The Queen asked in a soft, terrifying whisper, her mystical voice like a brush of hallowed velvet, and he suddenly felt no pity whatsoever for the creature at her feet. In fact, he very much wished to make it bleed. The fact that Shadow and Malice had yet to do so said quite eloquently that Fire had stopped them for the moment. Pity.

"N-Never, g-great goddess, n-never."

"But you did, or shall you say I lie?" Such utter malevolence contained within nine short syllables. It was amazing, really.

"N-never, great g-goddess."

"Well, which is it?"

"I…I…forgive me, I didn't mean to, I—"

"Silence." She cut it off with the barest flicker of one achromic hand that looked as though it hadn't seen sunlight in centuries.

Which it hadn't, really. Not if she could help it, which she usually could. She glanced at Malice and the Molidon, and Sirius saw that Pansy had done well in bringing her back, because the dark, eternally-satiric mirth in those star-laden eyes was all Virginia. And Ice was rising, his eyes meeting Shadow's and learning all that he needed to know there, and he, too, was anything but pleased. Sirius wanted to rise and help them when Fire gave them leave to do as they wished while her attentions went back to her ravished best friend, but the spell still held him captive, and all he could do was listen to her say that she wished to keep the fur.

And he remembered another time, similar but different.

_Begin Flashback:_

Fire paced in front of him, back and forth, back and forth, as lithe and lethal as a jungle cat, and her eyes shone with anticipation. All of Harry's friends but for her brother, Hermione and Cho were dead, and she had told Harry that if he could pass her challenge, his friends could live. Hopeful when they shouldn't have been, she even let them share a room, mostly just so that the pain of eternal separation would be even more difficult to bear. So for the last time, the Golden Trio plus one plotted and schemed and prayed, while the Midnight Court threw a celebration that birthed legends. And the slaves…if they had already been defeated, he didn't know what to call them then.

With Harry would die the very last smidgeon of their hope.

"I want to keep his skin, I think." Fire suddenly said, stopping and staring at Sirius. "We could preserve it, keep it with Voldemort's tongue and skull. As a reminder."

"Whatever you wish, darling. I simply want him gone, because he is a reminder himself. A reminder that if he had only been pure…"

"If he had been pure," Fire said slowly, surely, "he would have taken Draco's hand. Only a fool wouldn't have, even then."

"Exactly. Which is why it's quite depressing to think on long. No matter, your work to repair the holes in the lines is working quite nicely. The things you three can do with blood is…well, you know you're brilliant. But it's nice to start feeling _whole _for once."

"And in another few centuries…" Fire said dreamily, starting a smooth, spinning dance towards the bathroom, letting her hair free from its braids as she went.

"We will be." He finished for her in a bare whisper, the magnitude of that seemingly impossible to grasp.

Already, after only a short while of the High Royals reparation, they were stronger than ever before, family after family regaining the Old Blood magics, and the lines were barely starting to heal. The process had to do with blood and a spell that the High Royals had created, one that called upon instant reincarnation. One moment, you had a vial of a dead family's blood and three glowing, omnipotent High Royals, and the next, you had a bawling infant and three drained, exhausted High Royals. And due to that, the work went slowly, but it was worth it. He rose to leave, as she seemingly wished for privacy, until her sacrosanct voice slithered over him.

"Come now, Sirius, will you not join me?"

'_Only a fool wouldn't_', he almost said, but it came out as, "Of course, darling."

He padded silently into the large bathroom, more than half of the pools obscured by fog, the trickling of the waterfalls an ever-present melody. She stood in a center one, her hair completely unbound and flowing to her knees, not a stitch of clothing to be seen. Jewels and platinum glittered at her ears and throat, her fingers and wrists, her waist and ankles. Bands of spiraling white gold encircled her upper arms and her calves, and she was like a piece of perfection given form. He was honored to be anywhere near her, and he was hers to command for always. So humbled by her majesty and beauty was he that he had sunken to his knees before her without even thinking.

"Rise, Dog Star, and show me your bite."

She was sensual seduction at its most sinful, and he obeyed as he would forever obey anything that fell from those ruby lips. Lips that he had soon caught between suddenly sharp teeth, and she hissed with pleasure. He did not break the skin, for without permission, it was an automatic death sentence, but he made it sting and tingle as he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her against him. Then she was kissing him, slicing her tongue open on one of his fangs, and he was in hell, a sweet, pure, beloved hell that he never wished to leave. One hand rose to cup an alabaster breast and pinch the nipple viciously, at which she moaned and wound her legs around his waist.

"_Sirius_." It was utterly wanton and laced with that sought-after permission, and he wished to hear her groan his name like that for ages upon ages.

His robes were just suddenly gone, he was inside of her, and his legs gave out slowly as sensation overwhelmed him. They sank into the water and underneath it, their breathing stopping automatically while their ravenous kiss continued, and their hair fanned out around them, scarlet and ebony, like hellish seaweed. She ground into him as his mouth finally left hers, trailing to her neck and then to the tops of her breasts, before his fangs finally split that divine skin. She had given her leave for such with a single, depraved moan, and he knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted pain, violent, delicious pain; she wanted to be reminded that she was alive.

He struck again and again as he drove into her, until not an inch of skin from her throat to her waist remained untouched, her front covered in bite marks and her back shredded from sharp claws, and he received much the same in return, not that he was complaining. No, he wouldn't have been able to think coherently enough to complain had he wanted to, which he most certainly _didn't_. Rather, he wished he could speak, so that he could mutter reverent prayers to her into all of that bloody white skin. Since he couldn't, he worshiped her with every inch of his body, marveling over the supple, muscled grace of everything about her.

When they came, the water boiled with their passion.

Ice appeared not long after, laughing at their lazy grins and pulling them from the pool, drying and dressing them with a spell, before leading them from the room. Hours had passed, he told them with a lecherous smile, and it was time for the games to begin anew. Hermione and Cho were taken from their beloveds as 'incentive to behave', or so they were told, while Harry and Ron were drug into a large, dark room that was bare of furniture or anything else, made completely of ice eight feet thick at the thinnest. Harry and Ron stood stiffly, looking around anxiously and trying not to show how scared they were, how much they wished to be anywhere else.

"Where are Cho and Hermione?" Harry asked him in a voice full of determination as the Dark Knights and a few other select members of the Royal family poured in and took up positions around the walls to watch.

A second later, he found himself on the floor nursing a broken nose, while Anton didn't even look over as he finished passing by. The rapid movement had been hard to follow even for Sirius, and Harry hadn't seen it coming at all. Pansy kicked him hard in the ribs as she followed at Anton's heels, and Melody spat on him as she stepped around him daintily. Ron kneeled to help him, and both had only started to stand when Shadow entered, bringing darkness and cruelty with him like an aphotic cloud. Both flinched away instinctively, and flinched even more when Ice and Fire came in after him. Ice went to Shadow's side, and Fire sauntered over to their prisoners.

"Hello, brother." She purred, and Ron tried to glare, but he was beyond that, beyond simple loathing and righteous anger. "It's been a long time, you know. I'd almost managed to forget what you look like."

"Just tell us what we have to do, Ginny."

Fred's curse hit him a moment later and dropped him screaming to his knees.

"Alright, I'll tell you." She agreed after several long minutes of his agony, and all he could do was pant and sob on the cold floor. Harry looked as though he wanted to say something, do something, but he was smarter than that, at least. Even he could see that it would just make everything worse.

Not that it could get much worse than what the High Royals had planned.

"See, it's very simple." She started, circling them slowly, her crimson ringlets bouncing around her lightly with every airy, elegant step. "You will each kill someone for us. Do that one, simple thing, and you go free."

Lies, lies, lies. Pretty, cultivated lies.

"Kill someone?" Harry asked blankly, his eyes flickering to Sirius in wounded betrayal before going back to the Queen almost instantly.

"Yes." She clarified, leaning in and sniffing him, then pulling away quickly as if he'd smelled even fouler than imagined. "We wish to see you commit murder for us, in our names. Then, and only then, will we be satisfied."

Ha. They'd _never_ be satisfied.

Harry and Ron resisted at first, but it was meek and thin, and soon enough, two slaves were drug in, each wearing saggy, formless robes and each bearing a bag over their head in the style that ancient executioners used to be fond of making their victims don. The two Gryffindors stared at those they had to murder, stared at them as if they could make it all stop, but they couldn't, and they knew it. All they thought of, all they _let_ themselves think of, were the faces of their beloveds, those they killed for in order to free. They couldn't think about the fact that those were _people_ before them under the sacks, _people_ that were held against one wall by the Patil twins.

"Do it." Fire commanded, and both lifted the wands they'd been given, stumbled forward a few steps, and then faltered. Sirius wondered if they would be foolish enough to try and use the wands against someone else, but they weren't. No, they simply froze. Theodore moved in, viper-quick, and shoved them both forward violently.

"Do as the Queen says!"

"Sorry, so sorry." They could hear Harry and Ron muttering, before both straightened, looking haunted and damned, and sealed their doom. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

The slaves fell lifeless to the floor.

"Oh gods." Ron chocked out, before falling to his hands and knees and throwing up. Sirius felt his nose wrinkle and he stopped drawing breath, while two elves appeared, cleaned everything up, and disappeared.

"Are you happy now?" Harry asked in a broken voice, crouching beside Ron, and Ice laughed.

"Yes. Very, actually, because now your true punishment begins."

"What?" Harry asked slowly, and Ron looked up, his face still green and ashen. "But you said—"

"Hmm, yes, we know what was said." Fire smiled a saccharine smile. "But surely you didn't really think that we'd just let you go."

"You…you…" Her brother tried, but he couldn't seem to form words. But Harry could.

"You fucking lied! _You lied_! Where are Cho and Hermione!? _Where are they_!?"

"Why, they're right here, of course." Shadow intoned gleefully, and a rhythmic wave of one exquisite hand had the sacks falling from the slaves' heads.

Poor, poor Hermione and Cho. Killed by their own beloveds who thought they were saving them. How bloody _tragic_.

Needless to say, Harry and Ron fucking lost it and _did_ try to attack everyone, which resulted in them being knocked unconscious by a positively _joyful_ Lucius. What they awoke to…Never let it be said that the High Royals lacked creativity. And Harry and Ron were more than just amusement, they were a statement. So their fate got to be particularly…interesting. Interesting and wrong and disturbing, and something that made Sirius very happy that he had chosen the right side. Because they were magically restrained to beds, which seemed normal enough. Except they were also chained to people. Two particular people. Two particular _dead_ people.

Two particular dead people that their cocks were buried inside of.

Their screams upon waking echoed through Umbra like tortured, demonic wailing, and they grew crazed as they struggled to free themselves, to stop seeing those familiar, waxy faces and those empty, glassy eyes, to stop feeling what they couldn't help but feel, but their struggling only made it all worse. They were left in public view in one of the huge audience halls, and spells were placed on them that refused them the blissful release of madness. For weeks, the bodies of their loves rotted atop and around them, before their souls started being fed upon piece by piece until nothing remained that hadn't been banished to Hell.

Strangely, since he could have sworn that Remus had told him an odd story once that was incredibly similar, Harry ended gnawing out his own tongue and throwing up vile black sludge, and Ron clawed his own eyes out after one of Hermione's had finally burst during the second week and drained all over his face. By the forth week, both she and Cho were at one of the worst stages of decomposition, and looked as if they'd been underwater for a very long time, all bloated and gelatinous, which had a lot to do with the High Royals' twisted senses of humor. By the eighth week, Harry and Ron finally passed beyond life or death or lunacy.

Their last sight was of their decayed lovers, their last feeling that of their slimy, rotting flesh surrounding them.

_End Flashback_

"Fucking _finally_." Someone that sounded a whole lot like George said exasperatedly, and Sirius's eyes cleared of the ancient past. They were at one of the many Divine Pools, on one of the tiered levels above the sacred ground and obsidian water, and the others who'd been with him before were there now. As were the scrolls, the last of which the quill finally stopped tracing over, falling still.

"Damn thing had quite the mind of its own." Anton explained, nodding at the plumed feather and sneering. "We've decided to toss them." He shot a glance at the Pool.

"Toss them?" Sirius asked, his mind still slightly cloudy. "Why?"

"We changed our minds." He said simply, and then continued at Sirius's look. "None of us really wanted to do it in the first place, you know that. We did it only as a favor to that pride's leader. But its subject stepping so far out of bounds voids that promise, and we do not care for the early years to be known. Many would just warp them, make them into what they wished and ignore the facts anyway."

"So you're going to throw them into a portal to Hell?" Sirius asked sarcastically. "They could end up anywhere!"

"Oh, come now, Sirius." Ice crooned, looking as if he knew something that they did not. "What are the chances of them ending up anywhere at all? Let alone somewhere important."

"Honestly," Shadow continued for him, the same secretive, knowing glint in his eyes, "there are thousands of realms, thousands of worlds. The possibility is very slim, indeed." Seeing that he was getting no more out of them just yet, Sirius sighed.

"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you when we conquer some backwards little planet and they're found again. This isn't a very thorough way to get rid of them if you want them gone."

"But we don't want them _gone_." Ice said, scooping up the scrolls and spelling them into a sack, the last still in his hand. "We just want them lost in time for a little while." He finished, and Sirius stood as he started to throw the other one in and toss them. Something caught his eye, though, and he snatched the scroll back quickly. Then he laughed, because it was positively absurd that such a question would be asked, such a familiar question, so far from home and by a bloody enchanted quill, of all things.

"What is it?" Anton asked, and Sirius grinned and told him as Shadow took the sack and the last roll of parchment.

"It says, '_And__ what is the moral of this story?_'"

"'_The__ moral_'?" Shadow mocked, tossing in the last one before throwing sack of black scrolls over the edge and watching them sink with a sly smirk. "Morals are boring."

_finis_

………………………………………………………………………………...

Well, considering that this was supposed to be _three_ chapters long, it took a while to get here, but _voila_! And never fear, I have a little Yuletide present coming for all of you soon, so watch for it!

Please review! I'm begging! (bats eyelashes)


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